Southpaw
by atheneblue
Summary: Been a long time since I sparred," he said, in a voice like a match striking. Rated M for language and adult situations.
1. Chapter 1

"Hey, Sal, who's that guy over there?"

Nikki laid down her jump rope and joined the lanky Italian on the bench to wrap her knuckles. Sal looked up from his own wrappings. "Who?"

"Red-headed guy on the heavy bag. Not even wearing gym clothes."

The guy in question wore a white button-down shirt untucked over green trousers. He was barefoot.

Sal snorted and started on his right hand.

"Isn't he that 'repent, ye sinners' guy?" Nikki sniffed her wrappings and recoiled slightly. They needed serious washing. Perhaps with hydrochloric acid.

"I think it's 'the end is nigh', actually," Sal said, eyeing her with amusement. "Old buddy of Bernie's, I heard. They came up together, or something."

Nikki frowned. "I thought Bernie was raised in a home?"

"Uh, _yeah_," Sal agreed, indicating the redhead with his eyes. "Think a guy like that comes out of a normal family?"

Nikki shrugged.

"Angel saw him fight back in the day. Said he was creepy good. Fast. Unpredictable."

"Southpaw," Nikki observed. "Lightweight?"

"Hey, Angel!" Sal called the old coach over and indicated the redhead with his chin. "You saw that dude fight, yeah?"

Angel set down the practice mitts and adjusted his belt. "Yeah, long time ago. Shame he never went pro. Guy made corners like you wouldn't believe. One of those crazy little pitbull guys, y'know? Brick wall wouldn't stop him."

"Well, he _is_ going after that bag like it stole his lunch money," Nikki observed. "What's his name?"

The coach pursed his lips and blew air through them. "Uhhh, something Polish."

"He looks Irish."

"With that mick hair? Yeah. Soszcinsky? Kryzstof? Something with a K...Kovacs. That's it: 'Kovacs'."

Nikki eyed the redhead thoughtfully.

"What's going on inside that head of yours, girl?" Sal asked.

She grinned and snatched up her gloves.

"Nikki?" Angel called, but she was already climbing into the ring.

"Hey, red!" she called, leaning on the ropes. "Hey, Mr. The-End-Is-Nigh!"

The man turned slowly. His tousled hair was dark red with sweat. He looked up at the petite woman in the ring. Her t-shirt read "Fight Like A Girl".

"I'm fighting a southpaw in a few weeks. Wanna help me out?" He approached the ring cautiously, slipping his hands out of his gloves.

"Been a long time since I sparred," he replied in a voice like a match striking.

"Well, I've _never_ fought a southpaw." She grinned ruefully and ruffled her spiky black hair with her glove. "And you may have noticed that there's a shortage of females around here. What are you, like, 135, 140?"

He shrugged and jumped up onto the edge of the ring.

Out of the corner of her eye, Nikki saw Sal and Angel watching them. She turned, and they pretended to be discussing something unrelated. They looked very intent on their non-topic. She rolled her eyes.

The redheaded man stepped between the ropes.

"Where'd you get those gloves?" she asked, eyeing the pitiful lumps of leather he set down on the mat. "Bernie?"

He nodded and unbuttoned his shirt. "Lends 'em to me whenever I come in."

"I heard you and he..." Nikki's voice trailed off as the man shrugged out of his shirt, revealing a lean but thickly-muscled torso under a sleeveless undershirt.

_Wow, _she thought.

And then: _What kind of homeless guy is cut like that?_

The man glared at her with dead brown eyes, then leaned down to pick up his gloves.

"By the way," she said, struggling to cover her lapse, "I'm Nikki. You're Kovacs, right?"

He grunted acknowledgment as he laced up the old-fashioned gloves with his teeth. Her eyes popped, watching the cords of muscle contract under his pale skin.

Nikki leaned over the ropes toward Sal and Angel. "Are you guys gonna corner us, or are you too busy holding down the floor over there?"

The two men wandered over to lean on the ring, but Angel looked distinctly uneasy. He shot a look at Kovacs.

"I won't hurt her," the man rasped.

"Better not be for lack of trying, red," Nikki declared, eyeing him. He was not a large man, but she was a small woman. In addition to the thirty-odd pounds he had on her, he was perhaps four inches taller. And what had Angel called him? 'A crazy pitbull'? He looked junkyard mean. No. Hard. Hard like those pecs of his.

_Stop checking him out, you dumb bitch_, she told herself. _Now touch gloves_.

Nikki held her left out to brush Kovacs' right, then brought her gloves to her face. His southpaw stance was already throwing her off. She circled right to give herself some breathing room. His pale brown eyes watched her over his gloves. She tore her gaze away to watch his chest. That was where she would see the movement.

The first jab was a feint, his right hand stretching out to hold her off. She matched it with her left, then ducked in for a cross to his midsection. Kovacs danced away easily. He kept testing the distance with his jab, not putting any power behind it. Annoyed, she continued circling, eyes on that left hand of his.

Lightning-fast, he scooted around her right side (she was circling right into him, dammit) and tagged her with a left hook to the liver.

"You'd be done if that was for real, _chica_," Angel called.

"I know that," Nikki muttered. Frustrated, she dove in for a jab straight to his midsection. When Kovacs twisted to block, she clipped his ear with a right cross.

"Watch the body!" Sal warned her opponent.

Nikki tried a left hook to the head, but he was already inside her guard with a double jab to her stomach. She circled out, casting a glance at Angel. He shrugged.

Kovacs raised his eyebrows. _You still in this?_

"If this chick I'm fighting is half as good as you, I'm done for," she admitted, lowering her gloves. "Come work out with me sometimes."

A strange expression flitted over the redhead's face, but Nikki had no time to assess it.

"What the _fuck_ is going on here?" Bernie called, approaching the ring. "Get outta that goddamn ring, Walter."

A/N: It's been brought to be attention that, in the GN, Kovacs has brown eyes, not blue. I've made corrections throughout this story (although I will keep the blue-eyed concept in my other ongoing Wm fic "You Are Rorschach". Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

Bernie perched his skinny ass on the corner of his desk, watching Kovacs through the doorway. He had not invited the redhead inside his office. The gym owner took a healthy swallow of that protein crap he liked to drink.

"I don't want you hanging around that guy, Nik."

Nikki scowled and crossed her arms. "Ok, _Dad_."

Bernie rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. "Look, kid, your dad would want me to keep you away from that guy."

"So he's a bum," she shrugged. "He's a really good boxer. I asked him to help me train for my fight in June."

"Nikki, I've known Kovacs a long time, and I'm telling you: there is something not right about that man." He indicated Kovacs with his head.

Nikki turned her head. The southpaw was lacing his shoes up. _Crap._ She burst out of Bernie's office and hurried over to sit on the bench beside Kovacs.

"Hey, red, you didn't give me an answer."

"Think you got it," he grunted, flicking his head toward Bernie without looking up.

Nikki waved her hands in the air dismissively. "Forget him. Talk to _me._"

Kovacs straightened up and stared down at his hands.

"This chick I'm fighting is _good_. She's explosive, she boxes clever. If I could train with a southpaw, someone who has your skills..."

Eyes like polished steel swung toward her. His face was expressionless, and yet it seemed to mock her.

"Or maybe the end is too nigh to make any commitments?" As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she regretted them.

The mask regarded her coldly, then faced forward. He began to rise.

"Chick knocked me out in my last fight," Nikki blurted. "Out. Like, telling-the-ref-the-president-is-Thursday _out_."

The redhead evinced no sign of comprehension, but put his bottom back in contact with the bench. He seemed to be listening, anyway.

"I need to bring my A game to this next fight. I am _not_ eating mat again." She clenched her fists around the edge of the bench.

Kovacs sniffed. "It's your head you need to work on, then. Not your body. No amount of sparring, southpaw or no, can fix your mental game."

Nikki cocked her head at him. "But you know what can?"

He pursed his lips.

"Look, red." Nikki scratched her forehead. "Is there some way we can work something out?"

"Don't give up, do you?" He turned to her again, but this time the shadow of a wry smile lit his face.

She grinned. "Death before dishonor."

The redhead looked at her oddly, then rubbed his knees. "She any good?" he called to Bernie, who was leaning in the doorframe of his office, observing their negotiations. "Hard worker?"

Bernie shrugged and wandered over to them. "She gets frustrated easily."

Kovacs snorted. _No surprise there._

"But," Bernie added, looking at Nikki, "there's no reason she shouldn't win this fight. And lots more after that."

The redhead stood.

Nikki waited expectantly.

"What's your usual practice schedule?" Kovacs asked.

Hope stretched its wings in her belly. "I'm in the gym Monday, Wednesday, Saturday. I go running on off days."

"What's today?"

"Monday," she answered, giggling.

Bernie raised his eyebrows at her. _I told you he's a weirdo_.

Kovacs squinted up at something near the ceiling. "See you Wednesday, then."

Nikki's eyes lit up. "Seriously? No joke?"

The southpaw sighed. "Yep."

She curled forward, drumming her feet excitedly on the floor. "Omigod, yes! That is so rad!"

Bernie was glaring at the redhead.

With an ironic glance, Kovacs saluted the gym owner and walked out.


	3. Chapter 3

"Stop flinching," Kovacs barked.

"I'm not!"

He raised his eyebrows. "Want to lick canvas again?"

Nikki grimaced and cursed under her breath.

"Put your back against that wall," he told her. "Bend your knees and squat down a little. Not too far. There. Gloves up. Now just defend."

He started very slowly with light punches. She blocked each of the shots easily. He sped up a little. Nikki's eyes focused on his chest, watching for the inception of each punch. They set up a rhythm. Body, head, head, body, right jab, left cross, double jab, left hook. He struck faster, less predictably. Nikki's hands felt like they were moving on their own. She countered each of his shots almost automatically. It seemed like her eyes were doing all the work. Suddenly she realized that he was at full speed, and she startled out of her trance. Kovacs landed a left straight to her shoulder.

"Your body knows what to do. It's your head that's the problem."

Nikki opened her mouth to make a joke, but the look on his face stopped her.

"Again," he ordered.

******

On Friday she brought him a pair of sixteen-ounce sparring gloves and a lighter pair of bag gloves.

"They're secondhand," she admitted, "but they're better than that crappy pair Bernie lets you use."

Kovacs accepted the gloves without a word.

"I'll get you some gym clothes next."

He stared at her.

"Don't look at me like that. If you're gonna be in my corner, you can't be looking like some guy I got off the street." Nikki flashed her eyebrows at him, grinning.

She thought she saw a twitch of amusement near his mouth. Kovacs indicated the poster on the wall which listed the main card for the fight. "Only three weeks."

Nikki nodded seriously. "I'm in this, Red. Don't you worry about that."

"All right, Miss Washington." He bent to set the bag gloves next to his things on the bench.

She put her hands on her hips. "'Ms.', if you don't mind. I'm not defined by my marital status."

He definitely smiled at that.

"It's 'Nikki', anyway. Jeez."

"A nickname." Kovacs started walking toward an open area of the mat. She grabbed her jump rope and scooted to catch up with him. "For 'Nicole'?"

"Veronica."

"Thank you for the gloves, Veronica. Now get started."

Nikki exhaled and began to jump rope. It was her least favorite part of the workout. At least using it for a warm-up meant it was out of the way first.

"Hooks today, I think," Kovacs commented after a moment. She watched in the mirror as he untucked his shirt. To Nikki's disappointment, he did not remove the garment. "Yours are terrible."

"Wow. 'Terrible'," she repeated, speeding up her revolutions.

He grunted assent. "You're trying to bring it from the shoulder, but you don't have the upper-body to make that work, like a man. You've got to bring it from the hips and obliques." He twisted at the waist, demonstrating. "You've got hips. Use them."

Nikki eyed him in the mirror. Was Kovacs blushing?

He checked his watch. "Halfway there."

She swore under her breath. Every twenty seconds or so, she would vary her footwork to ease the strain on her shoulders. In the mirror, she caught sight of Angel and Bernie talking together. They were watching her.

"Hey, Red?" she called as a thought occurred to her.

Kovacs was stretching his triceps. He peered up at her from under his right elbow.

"You _are_ gonna be in my corner, right?" she asked shyly, avoiding his eyes in the mirror.

"If you want me there, Veronica."

She grinned.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Rated M for strong language and some upsetting themes. Oh, and "misogyny" starts with an M too...

Nikki labored through a round of shadowboxing before he finally asked her what was wrong.

She shook her head gamely and beat her gloves together.

"Sick?"

Nikki was not about to tell Kovacs that her cramps were so bad it felt like Freddy Krueger was crushing her ovary in one razor-laden fist. "Nope," she answered instead. "Ready to spar."

They squared off, and she knew immediately from his eyes that he could see something was wrong. She was slower than usual; her strikes did not have their usual force and explosiveness. She backed instead of circling. She covered down too much. He landed several blows on the outside of her shoulders as he made corners with his effortless speed.

Nikki started to feel sick. Her breathing was all wrong and way too heavy. Flitting blurs of darkness began to obscure her vision. Suddenly Kovacs broke through with a combination. The hook pummeled her on the left side of her lower abdomen, and pain crackled through her. Gasping, Nikki made a dash for the tiny ladies' room and retched into the toilet. Between heaves, she stripped off her gloves and handwraps.

When she was certain nothing more would come up, she flipped down the toilet lid and flushed. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Kovacs standing in the doorway of the one-holer. Ignoring him, Nikki reached for the tap. She rinsed her mouth and bathed her face, then stood clutching the sink and breathing into the pain in her side.

"They must be bad this month," said a voice over her shoulder.

Nikki turned her head to see a middleweight named Rick knuckling Kovacs lightly in the shoulder.

"Shut the _fuck_ up, Rick!" she bellowed into the sink.

Rick shot the redhead a commiserating glance. "She misses like three days a month in the gym for this shit. Tell you what, brother: I don't trust anything that bleeds for five days and doesn't die. Women."

Nikki was about to reply with some choice words, but another wave of nausea jerked her back. She fought it down. Glancing into the mirror over the sink, she saw Kovacs staring silently at the middleweight. After an uncomfortable moment, Rick moved along.

"Pregnant?" the southpaw asked quietly.

Nikki started and turned to face him. "Why would I be pregnant?'

He shrugged. "Don't women vomit when pregnant?"

"Yes," she agreed, rolling her eyes. "Yes, and it's the only time we _ever _vomit."

His jaw twitched at her mocking tone.

Nikki sighed. "No, Red, I'm not pregnant. Unless it's a whole new immaculate conception for the twentieth century."

His gaze softened at that. She had come to realize that his smiles were backward from most peoples': instead of smiling with mouth and not eyes, Kovacs usually only smiled with his eyes. She wondered were that habit came from.

"Call it a day?" he asked.

She shrugged and nodded, avoiding his eyes.

He pivoted to go.

"Sometimes I wonder whether I would have been a man," she said suddenly, tilting her head. "If I'd been given the choice, y'know?"

Kovacs turned back, a questioning look on his face.

Nikki snorted at his confusion and snagged her gloves, trailing him out of the bathroom. Rick was staring at her from across the gym. She winked broadly at him.

"_De women is de losers_..." she sang.

The redhead shot her an ironic glance and sat on the bench to strip his gloves.


	5. Chapter 5

Nikki walked in twenty minutes late to their next session, looking exhausted. "Sorrysorrysorry," she called to Kovacs as she headed for the bathroom to change.

"Thought maybe...last time..." he muttered when she emerged.

She blushed. "Uhm, no." She hesitated for a second, then the words came tumbling out: "There was a triple homicide and suicide last night. Crazy asshole killed his wife and kids and then himself. Today was totally nuts."

Kovacs turned from the speed bag to scowl at her. "You a cop?"

Nikki put a hand on her hip and cocked her chin. "Got a problem with that?"

He was silent, but his stare was colder than she had ever seen it.

There was a beat. Then Nikki rolled her eyes and relaxed. "I'm not a cop," she relented, shaking her head.

The redhead grimaced and looked away. He was visibly relieved.

Her curiosity was definitely piqued by his reaction. "Why do you care anyway?" she asked. She tucked one roll of handwrap under her arm and shook out the other. "You on the run from the law? Lemme guess: Manson family. No, wait: S.L.A."

Kovacs smacked the speed bag once with a hammer fist.

"Card-carrying member of the Cannabis Society?"

He reached up to stop the bag from rattling. For a moment, Nikki imagined his glove flying out toward her face, and she almost flinched. But when he turned his head, that ironic smile was quirking the corners of his eyes. "What _is _your profession, Veronica? Fiction writer?"

Now it was Nikki's turn to be relieved. She grinned and started to wrap her right hand. "Yeah, I've been told that I have an active imagination. But I'm not a writer. I'm a mortician."

His eyebrows shot up.

"Yup," she agreed. "Pretty much."

"Those deaths today. You were..."

"...prepping them, yeah. The service is day after tomorrow."

"The father. How did he...?"

Nikki fastened the velcro on her handwrap and scratched a spot on her forearm intently. "Drowned 'em. Then he stepped off the roof of their building." Her eyes flicked up to meet his. "He'll be a closed-casket. I'm good, but I'm not _that_ damn good."


	6. Chapter 6

"Honey, did you talk to Angel about wearing headgear for the fight?"

Nikki rolled her eyes, cringing, and set down the knife she was using to cut vegetables. "Mo-om!" she wailed.

Sandra Washington pushed dark blonde hair out of her face and stirred the sauce on the stove. "Nikki, you don't know what it was like to see you get knocked out last time. You are too smart and too pretty to end up like one of those old boxers you see shuffling around."

"For crying in the mud, Mom," Nikki muttered, attacking the celery with renewed vengeance. "I'm not wearing headgear."

Sandra hesitated for a moment in a loaded silence that Nikki knew would mean trouble. "Maybe I'll have a word with Angel myself."

Nikki flung the chopped celery into the waiting bowl and began to strip the carrots of their rough skin. "I'm not even working with Angel really now, Mom. Remember? Bernie's old friend?"

Sandra frowned. "I thought he was just assisting."

"Well, he is. He's just giving me some intensive training for the last few weeks. A fresh perspective, you know? Besides," Nikki added as she decapitated the flayed carrots, "he's _really_ good."

"What does he do again?" Her mother tasted the sauce and added salt.

"Who, Kovacs?" Nikki asked, stalling.

"I mean, what's his _job_?"

"Bagman for the Mafia."

Sandra raised an eyebrow at her daughter.

"Yeah, he's _totally _mobbed up."

"Well, I wish Mr. Bagman-for-the-Mafia had the sense to get you to wear headgear."

Nikki almost pegged her mother with carrot slices. "How old was I on my last birthday? Huh?"

"Thirty," Sandra sighed.

"Yeah! So will you please let me _be_ thirty and take care of my own shit?"

"I don't like hearing you use that language toward your mother," Marcus Washington grumbled from the back door.

Nikki sighed. "Hi, Dad. Sorry, Mom."

Marcus leaned in to kiss his daughter's cheek. "But you can be honest," he murmured in low tones. "It's _her_ face you see when you're punching that heavy bag, isn't it?" He flicked his eyes toward his wife.

Nikki grinned and kissed his mahogany cheek. As he leaned over to embrace her mother, Nikki found herself wondering what her father would think of Kovacs.


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Rated M for adult language and some violence.

******

"Rena? Hey, it's Nikki."

"Nikki! How are you?" The older woman's voice was tinny on the phone.

"I'm good, Rena. How are you? I'm not interrupting anything, am I?"

"No, you're not interrupting. You want Bernie?"

"N-No," Nikki stuttered hurriedly. "Actually, I wanted to ask you something real quick."

"Sure, baby, what's up?"

"Uhm, has Bernie told you that I'm training with that guy Kovacs? I guess Bernie knew him from back in the day..."

The line was silent.

"Rena?"

"Yeah, Nikki, I'm here," Rena sighed. "You _sure _you don't want to talk to Bernie?"

Nikki fidgeted. "You don't like him, do you? Kovacs, I mean."

"Baby, I don't really know the guy. Only met him a coupla times. Has he been bothering you or something?"

"No, no, nothing like that. I was just wondering if you knew where he lived. I mean, Sal kinda thought he was homeless. Is he at a shelter, or...?"

There was a clack from the other end of the line, and Nikki imagined Rena removing one of her large earrings to place the handset better.

"Homeless? Uh-uh. Last time I heard, he had a place not far from the gym."

"Erm. By 'place', do you mean apartment, or cardboard box?"

Rena laughed. "An apartment, gal."

Nikki rubbed her eyed, a little embarrassed by the conversation. "One more thing, Rena. Do you have any old gym clothes that Bernie doesn't wear anymore?"

"For Walter?"

"Yeah," Nikki answered sheepishly. "I figure he and Bernie are about the same size."

"He's not a stray cat, Nikki," the older woman warned.

"No, he's the guy that's gonna help me win my next fight."

Rena responded to the confidence in the younger woman's voice. "All right, I'll put some stuff together and send it in with Bernie tomorrow."

"Oh, Jesus, don't send it with Bernie!" Nikki cried, horrified. "I'll come by after work and pick up whatever you have."

The line was silent again. Then Rena muttered, "Guy who can't buy his own gym clothes doesn't need to be proud."

Nikki sighed. "Please just humor me on this, Rena."

"Ok, baby. Are you gonna be ready for the fight?"

"Pope Catholic?"

"See you tomorrow, Nikki."

*****

"Why do you dress like that?"

Startled, Nikki looked down at her athletic shorts and t-shirt. "Like...?"

"For work, I mean." Kovacs regarded her seriously from the far side of the heavy bag. "When you come in to change, you're always wearing a suit, like a man."

"You're giving me shit for dressing _too_ modestly?" She pulled a face. "You wear a jacket and tie to go...proclaim the end of the world, or whatever."

Nikki wanted to withdraw the words as soon as they were out of her mouth, but he just grinned at her. "Dress for the job you want..."

She rolled her eyes and jabbed the bag, rocking him back slightly. He re-centered himself easily with a slight motion of the hips. The sweatpants Bernie donated had to be a lot more comfortable than trousers, she figured. And the t-shirt looked hella-good on Kovacs' muscular torso.

His expression was serious once again. "You try very hard to be masculine."

"Why do you say that?" she asked incredulously. "Because I box and wear suits to work? I like the challenge of fighting, and I like to look professional when I meet with clients. What's the problem?"

"You're not one of the guys, Veronica."

Nikki's eyes narrowed. "Look, what the hell? You don't know me! You don't know the shit I go through everyday, just to get taken seriously. If I wear a skirt, I'm showing too much leg, but if I wear a suit, I'm trying to be a man. I cut my hair short, and I don't look 'feminine'..." She trailed off, shaking her head.

Kovacs walked around the bag and stared down at her. "Where's that fire when you fight, huh? You talk big, but then you get in that ring and act like a scared little girl. Where does that bravado go?"

Nikki stared at him, shaking with rage. "Say one more word, Red, _one more word_, and I will _drop_ you!"

And then Rick's voice assailed her ears: "You gonna let her talk to ya like that, man? Show her who's boss, why dontcha."

"Stay out of this, Rick," she snapped, her eyes not leaving Kovacs.

"Just tryin' to help a brother out, baby."

Nikki whirled on him. "I'm _not_ your 'baby'!"

"Fucking dyke." Rick shrugged and headed for the mat.

With startling clarity, Nikki saw the middleweight's leg as he turned to walk away. She lifted her foot and brought her heel down on his calf just below the knee. There was a crunch, and Rick's leg twisted sickeningly. Grunting with pain, Rick dropped to the floor. In a flash, Nikki was on him. She dropped an elbow, aiming for the back of his head, but he hunched, and she hit his shoulder. She saw his muscular arm swinging back towards her, but she was yanked out of the way before it connected.

It was Kovacs pulling her back. She fought, but his arms were wrapped around her ribs like iron clamps. Nikki bucked, and he moved with her.

"Cool it!" he barked.

She continued to struggle, knowing full well that Kovacs would restrain her as long as she fought. She looked down at his fair arms, the muscles cording with effort. His right hand clasped her hip, his left was locked under her right breast. Her back pressed against his strong chest. It occurred to her to keep struggling so that he _would_ hold her.

_Christ, girl..._

Nikki relaxed and threw her hands up in surrender.

"He won't be dancing the cha-cha anytime soon," Kovacs muttered in her ear. He sounded amused.

"What the hell do _you _care if I hurt him? If I broke his damn leg?" she demanded, trying to turn her head.

Kovacs released her. She jumped away out of his reach, vaguely aware that the stunned attention of the entire gym was on her.

"And if you broke your hand beating that idiot down? What then? You can't fight with one hand, Veronica."

Nikki glared at him. "Was that enough goddamn bravado for you?"

The redhead grinned. "Just about," he drawled. "Save it for the ring next time, huh?"

The look on his face was both terrifically disturbing and one of the sexiest things she had ever seen.


	8. Chapter 8

A/N: Rated M for adult language (including some possibly offensive references to homosexuality).

******

Nikki turned the corner at the coffee shop that always smelled like brewed heaven. She checked her watch, noting her pace. She needed to do this last half-mile in under 3:30. But just as she reached the end of the block, the light changed against her.

_Crap_. _Can't stop._

She took a right, hoping to hit the light change at the other end of the block. A couple stepped out of a bodega, and she swerved around them. Then she noticed a very familiar head of red hair was walking toward her. He spotted her at the same moment.

"Hey, Red!" Nikki called, panting. She stopped and put a hand to her hip.

"Hey, yourself," Kovacs replied quietly.

"How's business?" She eyed his hand-lettered sign. It occurred to her that this was the first time she had spoken to him on the street, in his 'herald of the apocalypse' incarnation.

One of those non-smiles flashed in his eyes.

"Slow, huh?" Nikki leaned down, resting her palms on her knees. "Wanna get some food later? I'm starving."

Kovacs squinted up at the sky as if looking for rain.

"Come on! The least I can do is buy you dinner."

He sniffed.

Nikki rolled her eyes. "Look, I'm gonna finish my run, then go home and shower. I can meet you at...7:30?"

The redhead shifted the wooden sign to his other shoulder and turned up his right wrist to check his watch. Nikki had never seen him wear those fingerless gloves before.

"You know the Gunga Diner?"

She grinned. "Yeah. 7:30?" She lifted the bottom hem of her long-sleeved shirt and used the damp fabric to wipe the rivulets of sweat off her face.

Kovacs looked away from her taut cafe-au-lait belly, his eyes wide.

A ripple of understanding played through the back of Nikki's mind. Her smile faded. "See you then, Red," she murmured.

The phone was ringing when she entered the apartment. She answered the living room extension, not daring to sit down and sweat on her mother's couch.

"Nikki!"

"Hi, Bernie," she sighed.

"I just talked to our buddy Rick, and he is _not_ a happy camper. His knee is seriously sprained."

Nikki stepped her sneakers off. "It's not broken? Damn."

"I don't find this situation as amusing as you obviously do."

"Amusing? I don't know about _that_." She toed out of her socks. A sudden thought occurred to her. "But I'm not apologizing to him, Bernie, if that's what you're calling about!"

"Christ, Nikki, don't bother. He might be pressing charges."

She rolled her eyes. "He's not gonna press charges. That would mean reporting to a police officer that he got beat down by a five-foot-nothing female."

"Well, I think you oughta give him some money for the hospital bill."

"I'll pretend I didn't hear that, Bernie."

"Yeah, I told Rena you wouldn't like that idea."

"It was _Rena's_ idea?"

"Yeah. Oh, she wants to come in tomorrow and spar with you."

"Are you serious?" she asked excitedly. "Bernie, that would be _awesome_!"

"Uh-huh, well, go easy on her. And if you pull any more shit like yesterday, I'm sending you out to partner up with that vigilante asshole Rorschach. You're getting too old for this kinda thing."

"Oh, _thanks_!"

"I'm gonna have a word with Walter about it, too, just so ya know. From what I understand, he wasn't too broken up either."

Nikki froze. "Bernie, you don't need to drag him into this."

"_You're_ the one who dragged him into this, Nikki."

She took a deep breath and dove in. "What is it that makes you so nervous about him? Why don't you trust him?"

"It's just old shit. Don't worry about it."

"No!," she insisted. "I think that if this guy's gonna corner me, I should be able to trust him."

"_Now_ you start to get nervous."

Nikki bit her lip. In her mind she saw Kovacs turning his face away from her bare flesh. "Uh, Bernie? Is he queer?"

"Who, Walter? Christ, no. He was always quiet, but it was easy to tell when he liked a girl. What makes you say that?"

She relaxed. "Well, he seems so harmless. I was just trying to think of something that might bug you, and I thought maybe..."

"...that I have a problem with homos? Nikki, what people do on their own time, behind locked doors-"

"Ok, ok, ok, Bernie. I'm sorry I said anything. Look, can we discuss this tomorrow?"

She could practically hear him rolling his eyes. "Sure, hon. Got a hot date?'

"Um. Tell Rena I can't wait to get her in the ring, will ya?"

"Yep. See ya."

"Later, Bernie."

Nikki headed into the bathroom, stripping out of her clothes. Bernie had done his duty. He could tell Rick that he had chewed her out for misbehaving.

She turned on the hot water and tried to reason her way through the problem: why does a straight male turn away from relatively youthful, healthy female flesh?

There was only one answer she knew of.


	9. Chapter 9

The redhead already had a table when Nikki entered the Gunga Diner. She slid into the seat across from him, her back to the plate-glass window.

"Glad you took that spot. I _cannot_ sit with my back to the door. I'm like Shane that way."

Kovacs glanced up and nodded in welcome, then returned to sweetening his coffee. The sugar pourer was greatly depleted when he returned it to the table.

"Y'know?" she insisted. "Shane? 'Don't go, Shane! Shaaaaaaane!'"

Kovacs took a sip of his coffee and returned it carefully to the perfect ring that had already formed on the paper placemat.

Nikki shrugged, letting it slide.

The waitress approached.

"I'll have a diet," Nikki told her. Looking back at Kovacs, she said: "Just spoke to Bernie on the phone. He called about that thing with Rick yesterday."

Kovacs' eyebrows rose slightly. "He angry?"

"Felt like he had to cuss me out, I guess. But Rena suggested that I pay his hospital bills. Can you believe it?"

"I take that to mean you don't intend to pay."

"No way! If I see the guy again, I'll put him _back_ in the hospital."

"He got that far under your skin?"

The waitress returned with Nikki's drink. "Thanks. I'm telling ya, Red: Rick's been asking for it."

"That wasn't a nice name he called you."

"I don't care if he thinks I'm a lesbian," Nikki scoffed, sipping her diet soda. "I've been called worse."

"Are you?"

"What?"

Kovacs flashed his eyes meaningfully.

"What, _gay_?" Nikki regarded him over the top of her glass. "Does it matter?" She looked up at the waitress, who had just reappeared to take their order. Kovacs was looking distinctly uncomfortable, but whether it was because of the possibility of the waitress overhearing their topic of conversation or because he did not much like her response to his question, Nikki was unsure.

"I'll have the French dip," she told the waitress, then noticed the slight twitch near Kovacs' eye. "Don't worry: I'll make weight!" she insisted, grinning.

"Meatloaf platter," he muttered to the waitress.

"That comes with mashed potatoes, doesn't it?" Nikki teased when they were alone again.

Kovacs cocked an eyebrow and took a sip of coffee. "_I_ don't have to get on that scale in four days."

Her dark eyes widened at his final words. "Four days! Yikes!"

"Freaking out?" he asked, his own light brown eyes twinkling.

"I'm _not_ freaking out!" Nikki traced a pattern in the condensation on her glass. "I'm just...starting to get that buzz."

The redhead nodded.

"Gonna come to the weigh-in?"

"Not usually a morning person," he replied, staring out the window over her shoulder.

"Come on," she scoffed. "You gotta get up early to warn folks how nigh the end is. Besides, if I _am_ overweight, I may have to strip some clothes off to get on the scale. Then we can get in the sauna to sweat out that last pound or two." She winked.

Kovacs snorted. Was he blushing? "Give you a cup to spit in, is what I'd do."

Nikki laughed.

"You laugh a lot," he commented, squinting at her.

"If you ain't laughing, you gotta be crying, right?"

He watched her with a mixture of interest and amusement.

"Smiling in the rain, that gallows humor? I come by it honestly. My mom's family is Russian, and my dad's people came over on the slave ships. Oh, and I'm a _mortician_!"

He cracked a smile.

"Besides, if I offend you, you'll sho' 'nuff tell me," Nikki drawled. "Right?"

Kovacs twisted his mug between his palms. "You don't anything's sacred. Reminds me of someone I used to know. And I appreciate candor."

Nikki raised her soda. "To the truth?"

He clinked her glass with his mug wryly. "To the truth."

"Speaking of which." She took a sip of her drink. "I'm not gay."

Nikki was almost positive that she saw one light brown eye wink.


	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Rated M for language and sexuality.

****

"Well, if it ain't 'Nikki Kneecaps'!" Sal called, grinning broadly.

"Better watch out, Salvatore, or it'll be you next, _paisano_." Nikki reached up to slap Sal's waiting palm in a high-five. Her eyes went to Kovacs, who was shadowboxing on the far side of the gym. The twitch of his broad shoulders with each explosive punch was really distracting.

"Bring that shit on Saturday night, Nik," Angel grunted.

"Shock and awe, baby," Nikki agreed, kissing the old coach on his cheek.

Angel sniffed indifferently. "You and Rena gonna spar?"

"Yeah!" Nikki waved at Rena, who was inside Bernie's office. The older woman smiled.

"Right on," called Sal. "I love foxy-boxing!"

"Hey," Nikki responded, heading for the bathroom, "I'm wearing heels, jackass. Don't mess with me." She passed Kovacs, who gave her a deliberate once-over. She almost blushed as his eyes raked her fitted blouse, pencil skirt, stockinged legs, and high-heeled pumps.

"See anything you like?" she challenged.

The redhead's eyes smiled. "_Ms_. Washington," he growled in greeting, then tucked his head and returned to shadowboxing.

Nikki locked the bathroom door behind her and started stripping out of the work outfit she had chosen that morning specifically with Kovacs in mind. She had tolerated the skirt and heels all day in breathless anticipation of those thirty seconds when he would see her in the feminine attire.

'_Masculine', my dear aunt Fanny..._

She paused, catching sight of herself in the mirror. She had even applied a fresh coat of lipstick before leaving work.

_Christ. Get back in the game, bubblehead._

She switched on the faucet and leaned over to scrub the make-up from her face.

Come to the gym to meet guys, do ya?

Off went the hose and the silk blouse. On went the shorts and sports bra.

_Not a girl. A fighter._

She unlocked the bathroom and stepped out into the gym.

Rena approached, hands on her hips. "Why'd you take your make-up off, hon? You looked so cute!'

Nikki rolled her shoulders to loosen up her muscles. "The only reason I know how to do make-up, Rena, is because I have to make dead people look less dead."

Kovacs gave her the fish-eye, hearing her sour tone.

Nikki ignored him. "I'm gonna warm up," she announced, storming off to a corner with her jump rope.

******

She twisted under the sheets, lost in gray exhaustion. Her body ached from the rigorous schedule with which she had been training it lately, including this evening's sparring session with Rena. Bernie's wife had been a New York legend fifteen years ago, one of the best female boxers the city ever saw. She had put Nikki through her paces tonight, but Nikki had loved every second of it.

"Lookin' good out there, _chica_," Angel had said when the women took a break. "Fast, light. Just don't get too used to that orthodox stance."

She had felt a sudden electric twinge as Kovacs reached between her lips to remove her mouthguard. The invasion of his fingers into her mouth was oddly intimate.

The southpaw handed her a water bottle. "That's what you need on Saturday, Veronica: pop-pop-pop. Forget the power. Work tight and fast, and she'll feel it."

Nikki licked her lips now. She could still feel the rough efficiency of his slim fingers. She imagined how they would feel in her mouth under different circumstances: her wet tongue massaging the calloused pads, exploring his whorls and ridges. She wanted to lick her way along his hand to his wrist, feel the hot beat of his pulse under the fair skin, mouth the taut cords of his muscles.

She took a deep breath. No sex for six weeks before a fight: that was the old wisdom. Did it include masturbation?

It's Kovacs! her left brain screamed.

Nikki remembered how his arms had felt wrapped around her waist, how he had restrained her struggling frame against his own body with ease. His breath had been hot in her ear when he ordered her to cool it. She recalled the chiseled torso she had glimpsed for the first time in the ring.

_Shit_.

Maybe it would be better just to do it. Get it out of her system. She did _not_ need to be thinking about Kovacs during the fight on Saturday. She needed to be a boxer, not a girl.

_Tell that to your girl parts, sugar_.

Experimentally, Nikki slid her hand between her thighs. She was not surprised by the slickness she discovered there. A sudden vision of Kovacs parting her folds with his strong fingers assailed her. Nikki banged her head back against the pillow. It was hopeless.

She prances into the gym in her skirt and heels, and he follows her into the bathroom. Their eyes meet in the mirror as he shuts the door and locks it. Then his gaze drifts away to ravage her body. He steps toward her and presses her hips against the sink with his groin. His erection prods her buttock. His hands slide under her blouse, caressing her smooth flesh. She stifles a gasp when his mouth touches the back of her neck. He teases the sensitive area with his tongue and teeth. His fingers close over her breasts.

Nikki's own fingers began to work.

_You're not one of the guys, Veronica_.

He shoves his hand inside her bra to tease one taut nipple. She bucks back against him.

_You've got hips. Use them_.

He pushes her skirt up and grips her pantyhose. The nylon tears eagerly. Reaching behind her, she fumbles with his fly and struggles to release his erection. Suddenly she feels the silken hardness, and he is shoving her thighs apart, and she is tilting her hips, and he plunges himself into her dripping center.

Nikki felt her body clenching with need.

He thrusts inside her again and again. She grips the sink desperately as he rocks her forward. He clasps her tightly, one hand still fondling her nipple inside the cup of her bra. His breath burns hot on her neck. She can sense his climax approaching.

"Yes, Red," Nikki whispered, her muscles spasming. The pleasure flooded through her,

_Veronica..._

and she shuddered with release. She relaxed, her breath slowing. Nikki lay in the darkness, waiting for the blankness, but it did not come.

She still wanted him.

_Goddamnit._


	11. Chapter 11

A/N: Rated M for coarse language and icky mortician stuff. I do not own "Watchmen" or the poetry of Claude McKay.

*****

Nikki checked over the decedent and prodded the lower half of the Y incision. "Organs bagged?" she asked.

"Yup," Larry confirmed, checking his hair in the mirror.

"C.O.D. was blunt force trauma, I'm assuming." She clucked her tongue at the contusions covering the man's face and torso. "This is going to take every ounce of my amazing skill. It'll take me ten times as long to make him look right as it did to make him look like _this_."

The assistant from the office of the medical examiner threw her a conspiratorial glance. "Salazar said this was a Rorschach job."

"Sure, Larry. Or maybe it was alligators from the sewers." Nikki snapped on some gloves and began to snip away the stitches closing the man's abdomen. "Think this guy thought he would be killed by the boogeyman?"

The kid shrugged. "Go ahead: don't believe in Rorschach. But he sure as hell believes in you."

She cocked a wry eyebrow at Larry as she removed the bag of organs from the decedent's belly and placed it in a tub of cavity fluid.

"Alright, I gotta get back to the M.E.'s," Larry explained, backing away from the formaldehyde smell of the fluid. "Stay fresh, baby."

"Har-de-har."

*****

"Take tomorrow off," Kovacs instructed. "Do not come in here to work out. Do not run. Do not jump rope. Let your body rest and gain strength. On Saturday you can work out before the fight, until you get your second wind. Your body will react better that way."

Nikki sucked in air and wished he would not mention her body anymore. It was hard enough to look at him without remembering the previous night's indulgence.

The redhead checked the wall clock. "Three minutes: speed and accuracy. Go." He raised the training mitts.

Nikki threw herself into the exercise. She tried to imagine that it was Ariana Sanchez on the receiving end of her gloves, but Kovacs' strong jaw kept drawing her out of the visualization.

"There," he encouraged. "Double-jab, right down the center. One, two, three, four."

She fought the burn in her shoulders, screwing up her face in frustration. Her stamina was not where it should be.

"Relax. You're tightening up. I want to hear that _pop_."

Nikki grunted and breathed into the pain. Her gloves pounded the training mitts, angling for that sweet spot every time.

"There you go, Veronica. One minute left. Pushpushpush."

Dimly she heard the sound of loud voices and laughter erupt behind her. She ignored it.

"Thirty seconds," Kovacs announced.

She threw her hips into each strike, using the large muscles of her back. In her head she began to recite a poem she had to memorize in school for Black History Month; it always helped her drive through.

If we must die, let it not be like hogs,

_Hunted and penned in an inglorious spot,_

_While 'round us bark the mad and hungry dogs,_

_Making their mock at our accursed lot._

_If we must die, oh, let us nobly die_

_So that our precious blood may not be shed..._

"Time."

"Fffffuck!" Nikki hissed, bending forward. She rested her gloves on her knees and gasped for air. Sweat trickled off her forehead onto the mat.

"Who is that?" Kovacs inquired mildly.

Nikki turned her head slightly to examine the crowd of men gathered near the front door. There appeared to be much clapping of backs and shaking of hands. One man emerged as the center of all the attention: a tall, broad, dark-skinned man with a shaved head. His face was familiar to her.

"That," she answered, "is Lester Lincoln."

"The title fight?"

"The very same," Nikki sighed. "He challenges for the heavyweight belt Saturday night." She straightened up and put her gloves behind her head.

"You know him," the redhead asked, eyeing Lincoln dispassionately.

"He used to train here, with Bernie. But he bailed for a gym in Chicago last year."

"_There's_ that pretty yellow gal!" the heavyweight called amiably, approaching them. His grin was blinding.

Nikki smiled. "What you been up to, Lester?"

"Breakin' necks and cashin' checks, baby!" He reached out to hug her.

"I'm all sweaty!"

"Too bad it wasn't me that did it," Lester lamented, winking suggestively. Ignoring her protests, the big man snatched Nikki up and swung her around. She squealed her dismay in a highly undignified manner.

"Whew, girl, guess you still work at that funeral home." Lester wrinkled his nose and deposited her on the mat.

She laughed. "Yeah, that smell sticks around." She cleared her throat, turning to the southpaw. "Lester, this is Kovacs. He's been working with me the last few weeks."

The heavyweight stuck out his hand to shake. Kovacs took his time removing the practice mitts and wiping his palm on his sweatpants. When they finally shook, Lester's grip completely enclosed the smaller man's hand.

"Pleased to meetcha," Lincoln said.

Kovacs remained silent and withdrew his hand.

Nikki knocked her gloves together uncomfortably. "Uhm, Lester, we better finish up here. And I'm sure you got a million people to say hello to. Maybe we can catch up after the fight, huh?"

Lincoln nodded. "Sure, honey. I'll buy you a drink. Just kick that Spanish bitch's ass, will ya?"

"Done," Nikki agreed, smiling.

The heavyweight flicked a glance at Kovacs. "Okay, then. Catch ya on the flip side!" He sauntered away to join the crowd at the front of the gym. Sal, standing among the group, caught Nikki's eye. She looked away and began to strip off her gloves.

"Abs, right?" she asked, walking to the corner to grab a medicine ball.

"Start with the hundreds," Kovacs responded, following her.

Nikki positioned herself on the mat, knees slightly cocked, and held the ball out before her. Angling her torso about forty-five degrees from level, she raised and lowered the ball with short movements. Her triceps began to ache immediately.

Kovacs braced himself on the mat nearby, crossing his ankles, and began a set of one-legged push-ups. Nikki focused on the pain in her arms and abdomen. She decided that she was completely unimpressed by his show of strength. The flexing of his already-hard pectorals which was currently occurring under his t-shirt interested her not at all.

After a moment he rested and sat back on his kneels. "Your smell has never bothered me," he commented.

Nikki froze and turned round eyes on him. "Excuse me?"

"The chemical smell," he elaborated. "It is not unpleasant."

She rolled her eyes, trying to remember what rep she was on. "Mhm. Formaldehyde can give you a mild high. Ya sniff bleach too?"

He cocked his head. "There is a minty odor as well."

"Our arterial mixture has a wintergreen additive," she explained, grinning. _Eighty-seven, eighty-eight, eighty-nine..._

"'Arterial mixture'," the redhead repeated quietly. He seemed lost in thought.

_...one hundred_. Nikki popped the medicine ball between her knees and flung her palms behind her onto the mat. She arched her back, easing the ache in her abdominals.

Kovacs looked up and realized that she was done. "Obliques."

She groaned and retrieved the ball. Twisting at the waist, she touched the ball to the mat on each side: left, right, left, right. "I hate you," she exclaimed, clenching her teeth. "Have I mentioned that before?"

The southpaw was staring at Lester Lincoln. Nikki could not read the expression on his freckled face.

"You don't like him, do you?" she grunted.

Kovacs pulled a face.

"Yeah, he's kind of an asshole." She shrugged, almost losing her balance in the process. "But he's mostly harmless. Except in the ring."

The redhead scratched his jaw. "I don't like that he called you 'yellow'."

Nikki raised her eyebrows, grinning. "Well, historically, children of mixed African and Caucasian blood have been known as 'yellow' in the Americas."

"Makes you sound like a miscegenated lemon."

She burst out laughing. "You did _not_ just say 'miscegenated'! Lester'll come over here and beat your skinny, ofay ass if he hears you saying shit like that!" Trying to restrain her giggles, she finished her rotations with the medicine ball and flopped back onto the mat.

"So, if I'm not 'yellow'," she teased, "what color am I?"

"Coffee ice cream," he responded immediately.

Nikki's face expressed pure incredulity.

Kovacs was bright red, blushing all the way to the tips of his ears. He grabbed the medicine ball and started his own set of oblique rolls.

*****

A/N: I apologize for any errors in my mortuary descriptions here and in later chapters. I have primarily used Mary Roach's excellent and hilarious book "Stiff" (something everyone should read before they die, if not after) for my information, as well as (yes, you read that correctly).

There will be more smut for those who are used to my other, bluer writings. No worries! -ab


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Rated T for coarse language. I do not own "Watchmen" or the music of Wings.

*****

Despite his earlier assertions, Kovacs did indeed show up to the weigh-in. Nikki almost wished he had not. He was watching her like a hawk, and it made her nervous.

"It's not even a pro fight, Red," she hissed to him as Ariana Sanchez stepped onto the scale in shorts and a sports bra. "Worst thing that happens is they take points because I'm over weight. And I'm not! Hell, _she _could be over."

"One-oh-five, even," the official announced. Sanchez walked off the scale.

"Okay, so she's not over," Nikki admitted. She shrugged out of her sweatshirt and approached the scale. She tried to dismiss from her mind the notion that even now Kovacs was looking away from her bare arms and midriff.

"Veronica Washington, stepping on," said the official.

Nikki gripped the rough surface of the scale with her toes. She had stuck to liquid foods on Friday and used an enema that night (to her mother's dismay). She had not consumed any fluids since waking up this morning.

The official balanced the scale. "One-oh-four-point-five."

Nikki swore happily under her breath and jumped down to the ground. Sanchez joined her for the face-off. The Puerto Rican woman put up her fists and glared at her. Nikki matched her pose, grinning. She had always thought this tradition was ridiculous and was mildly embarrassed by it.

_Total _guy_ bullshit_.

She summoned as much machismo as she could and tried to make her grin less friendly. Channeling Kovacs' deadpan, she took the opportunity to examine her opponent's stance. Sanchez was almost exactly her height. Arm length, leg length looked the same. Tale of the tape: no discernible differences.

Someone snapped a picture.

Now it was Sanchez' turn to smile. She grabbed Nikki's fist and pulled her into a hug. "Good luck!" Sanchez trilled.

"_Buenas suerte_,_ mami_," Nikki called, laughing, as she turned back toward Kovacs. He tossed her sweatshirt at her. When she had dressed, he handed over her water bottle. She sucked the fluid eagerly. "How much weight do you think she can put on by tonight?"

"More than you," Kovacs snorted.

Nikki scowled, but she said nothing, focusing on her water intake.

Kovacs was dressed in his street clothes this morning, but they seemed cleaner than usual. And..._pressed_? The redhead had shaved his ordinarily stubbly jaw. He almost looked like a normal human being. Except for the exhaustion that shadowed his eyes.

"Long night?" Nikki asked, genuinely curious.

"How are you feeling?" he countered.

She squinted and took a sip of water, considering his question. "Butterflies."

Kovacs looked over at Sanchez, who was waiting for the other fighters from her gym to weigh in. He shrugged. "No reason to fear anything that cannot kill you." His brown eyes soothed her.

"Yeah," she agreed, swallowing. "Yeah."

******

"Whatcha been up to all day, Nik?" Bernie asked, giving her a hug and a kiss on the cheek.

She hugged him back fiercely. "Trying not to go apeshit. How's Sal looking?"

"Good, good. He should be here any minute. Told me he wants to start warming up early so he can watch your fight."

"Aw, that's sweet of him," Nikki exclaimed honestly. She caught sight of Ariana Sanchez working the heavy bag. Her long dark hair was tamed in an impressive display of cornrows. "Hmph. Guess we know what _she's _been up to."

Kovacs raised a languid eyebrow.

"Getting her hair did." Nikki rubbed her own pixie-cut with her glove. The thick locks stood up at crazy angles.

"How's our girl, Walter?" Bernie asked casually.

"Physically? Great," the southpaw responded. "Mentally?" Those dead brown eyes swung toward her.

"I'm fine, Red," Nikki asserted. She popped his mitted right hand with a jab to emphasize her point.

"That's good, Nik. Because guess who Rena says is out there?"

She frowned at the gym owner. "Who?"

"Johnny Lassiter."

"Oh, _Christ_," Nikki groaned, throwing her head back. Kovacs threw her a confused glance.

"You know he's looking to sign the winner of this fight, kiddo." Bernie regarded her earnestly. "He's looking for some real female talent, so make it good. Whoops: there's Sal." Bernie excused himself to greet the professional fighter.

"Don't say it, Red."

Kovacs shook his head, eyes innocently wide.

"I know, I know: I gotta walk before I can run." Nikki slammed her gloves into his training mitts.

He winced at the impact. "I think you are good enough. But I do not think you want it enough."

Nikki's mouth dropped open; her gloves fell to her sides. "Ex_cuse_ me? You don't think I-"

Kovacs tagged her lightly on the cheek with a mitt. "Don't drop your hands," he teased.

She narrowed her eyes at him, but the laughter escaped through her nose.

"Don't laugh! I wanted you riled up. You actually looked like a fighter for a second there."

She twisted her hips and drove a jab right down the center. He narrowly blocked it.

"Much better," he smirked.

"Sanchez and Washington!" one of the organizers called.

Nikki took a deep breath and blew it out. Kovacs, grabbing her water bottle, cocked his head in the direction of the door.

"Let's do this," she said. Her head felt oddly light as she crossed the room toward the fight organizer. She registered his blond ponytail and earring. He wore a gold bracelet.

Angel hurried up to join them with a bag of ice, a towel, and cotton swabs jammed into a rubber band around his wrist. He winked at Nikki.

She could hear loud music and the sounds of people as they approached the ballroom where the fights would be held. Spectators were still entering the ballroom. Nikki knew that most people would not arrive until later, when the standard card began, but the size of the small crowd still alarmed her when they reached the threshold. She hoped nobody else could hear her heartbeat; it sounded so loud in her own ears.

The music cut off, and an announcer in a tuxedo stepped into the ring. "Ladies and gentlemen, our first fight of the night is an amateur bout in the women's strawweight division between Ariana "the Android" Sanchez and Nikki "the Undertaker" Washington."

Nikki rolled her eyes at the moniker she had earned. She elbowed Kovacs in the ribs, just in case he was snickering.

"Now, please welcome: fighting out of the blue corner, at five-foot-one, one-hundred-and-five pounds, with an amateur record of four wins and no losses...Ariana Sanchez!"

Loud music blared as the Puerto Rican woman sauntered into the ballroom, trailed by her cornermen. Sanchez danced a little to her walk-out music. She smiled and waved to the spectators. At ringside, the official checked her gloves, face, and mouthguard, then her cornermen helped her out of her sweatshirt. She climbed up, slipped between the ropes, and began to side-skip around the ring to keep herself warm. Sanchez looked so small in the ring, wearing a sports bra and loose trunks, that Nikki felt her fear begin to slip away. The adrenaline was starting to pump.

"And, fighting out of the red corner, at five-foot-and-one-half inch, one-hundred-and-four-point-five pounds, with an amateur record of two wins and one loss...Nikki Washington!"

The speakers began to blare:

_When you were young, _

_and your heart was an open book,_

_you used to say 'live and let live'._

Nikki stepped out and approached the ring. She watched Ariana Sanchez.

_but if this ever-changing world in which we're living_

_makes you give in and cry:_

_say 'live and let die'._

Ringside. The official was checking her. She watched Sanchez.

What does it matter to ya?

_When you got a job to do,_

_you gotta do it well._

_You got to give the other fellow hell_

Kovacs grabbed the hem of her sweatshirt and drew it over her head, pulling her gloves through the over-stretched sleeves. He slid her mouthguard in. Her eyes slid from Sanchez to meet his gaze.

_You used to say 'live and let live'._

_You know you did, you know you did, you know you did._

_but if this ever-changing world in which we're living_

_makes you give in and cry:_

Kovacs grinned at her.

_say 'live and let die'._

*****

A/N: I apologize for any liberties I've taken with the realities of women's amateur boxing in early '80's NYC. If you complain, I'll just cite the alternate reality of Wm-verse. ;)

I stole Ariana Sanchez' fight name ("Android") from Chris "Cyborg" Santos, one of the best female fighters in MMA today.


	13. Chapter 13

A/N: Rated T for coarse language and some mild violence. I hate writing action sequences, but I had to show you the damn fight, after all that. ;p

*****

Angel plopped the bag of ice onto the back of her neck. "Got somewhere to be, _chica_?" he asked pointedly.

Nikki stared at him in confusion.

"Mouthguard," Kovacs ordered. She opened her mouth obediently and let him remove the item. He handed her the water bottle. "He means, 'why are you trying to end the fight so quickly'? You're out there dropping bombs."

"You're letting her in," Angel added.

"So: fast, pop-pop-pop, like we practiced." Kovacs looked at the ref, then nodded to Angel. Away went the bottle and the ice, in went the mouthguard.

"Pop-pop-pop," the redhead reminded her.

Nikki squared off with Sanchez. The other woman feinted a few times, but did not commit.

Sanchez' corner told her to wait until Nikki starts swinging for the fences again, then dart in and pepper her, Kovacs thought. "Fast and tight!" he called.

Nikki scooted in and tried a combination. Nimble and light, the right hook made it through. Sanchez backed up.

"There ya go!" Angel called. "Keep her on that back foot."

Nikki pursued her, but Sanchez answered with an uppercut that Nikki barely blocked. Nikki grinned at her opponent, but the strike served as plenty of warning. She circled, feeling out the distance, finding her rhythm.

Exchange. Block. Circle out. Another exchange.

Take your time, Veronica.

The women clinched up and were separated by the ref. Kovacs heard the thumping that signaled one minute left in the round. Nikki clearly heard it too; she started to press her opponent with more aggression. Then Sanchez caught her with a liver shot, the same hook that he had scored on Nikki the first day they sparred. He could see Nikki's nerves taking over, and she tightened up.

"Relax, Veronica!" he barked. "Relax your shoulders!"

Thirty seconds.

Nikki dove in for a double jab, throwing her hips into it, but even as she moved forward Kovacs knew it was bad, it was wrong, she had dropped her right, and Sanchez tagged her on the bridge of her nose with a left straight that made the audience groan.

Stay in this, he thought, willing all his strength toward her. Stay in this.

Nikki did not go down. Instead, she swung wide and connected with the Android's temple. She had not put much power behind this one, but it was enough to back Sanchez up, to let Nikki recoup and try to breathe through the nose that was now trickling blood.

Her mother is going to have my head, Kovacs thought wryly.

Ten seconds.

"Body, Veronica, body!" he shouted. Sanchez would try to exploit that bloody nose.

Sure enough, the Puerto Rican kept trying to break through to Nikki's face. Nikki covered down and tried to stay alive while landing a few body shots. Kovacs could hear her snuffling; he could see from her eyes that she was starting to panic as it grew harder to draw breath.

Ding.

The ref pushed Nikki toward her corner. "Take care of that nose, guys, or I'm stopping the fight," he told Kovacs and Angel.

"SHIT!" Nikki cursed, her voice muffled by blood and spit and mouthguard.

"Okayokayokay," Angel repeated, making soothing sounds as he settled her onto the stool. He wiped the worst of the blood off her face with a towel. Kovacs drew out her mouthguard, squirted her mouth with water, then held out a bucket. Nikki swished and spat. The redhead pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Fuck!" she hissed, fighting back tears.

Sorry sorry you're okay you're gonna be okay...

"Don't think it's broken," Kovacs told Angel, who shoved a cotton swab up each of her nostrils.

Nikki sputtered. Her eyes went wide as blood trickled down her throat, suffocating her.

"Look at me, Veronica," Kovacs ordered.

She obeyed instantly, her dark brown eyes locking onto his gaze.

"Breathe through your mouth. Hey, watch me!" He indicated his eyes with two forked fingers as her focus strayed away. He continued to put pressure on the bridge of her nose. She dragged air in through her mouth, and the panic receded from her face.

Angel changed out the cotton swabs for fresh ones. "I think we got it," he told Kovacs.

An E.M.T. appeared to examine Nikki's nose. "You good to fight?" he asked.

"Yeah," she answered emphatically. "I'm good."

The tech nodded at the ref, who signaled the corners. "Ok, ladies: Round Three."

Angel removed the swabs from Nikki's nostrils and wiped her face again. Kovacs eased her mouthguard in. Nikki pulled a face; she was obviously not happy about having to breathe through her mouth.

"No fear," Kovacs told her, "and no anger. It's just business."

Nikki nodded and stepped back into the center of the ring. Her dark eyes were cold and distant, her posture easy. Sanchez threw a few jabs, trying to make Nikki's nose start bleeding again, but Nikki danced away clean. The Puerto Rican brought an uppercut hard from the hips. Nikki weaved, and it became clear that Sanchez was tiring.

"Body!" he called.

Nikki drilled her opponent with a jab-cross combination to the gut that sent her staggering back. She pursued Sanchez into the corner, hands moving quick as flames. A cut opened up over Sanchez' eye. Kovacs could not be sure which strike had caused it, but Nikki, spotting the blood, went for broke.

"Attagirl!" Angel hollered, as Nikki drilled Sanchez mercilessly. The Puerto Rican covered down. Her cornermen were bellowing in Spanish and English. Blood was pouring out of the cut.

The referee leapt between them, pushing Nikki back. "Neutral corner," he barked and signaled a time-out to the judges. Sanchez' cornermen jumped into the ring to address the wound on her forehead. The E.M.T. hurried over.

Kovacs looked to Nikki, who was leaning against the corner post. She met his eyes. He nodded at her reassuringly.

Suddenly the ref disengaged himself from the group around Ariana Sanchez and waved his arms across each other in an "out!" gesture.

It's over. The thought flitted through Kovacs' mind in a bizarre mixture of amazement and regret.

The announcer grabbed his microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, Referee Jack McCauley is calling a stop to this fight at one minute and two seconds of the third round on the advice of our medical professional."

Kovacs heard a loud cheering to his left. Rena and some of the other fighters from the gym were on their feet, along with an excited blonde woman who was hugging a distinguished-looking black man.

Sandra and Marcus Washington, I presume.

He looked back at Nikki. She was banging her gloves down against the ropes in frustration.

"Veronica," he remonstrated, "it's a 'W'. Take it!"

She squinched up her face at him, then winced as her nose contracted. "Ok!" she called.

Introduce me to your parents, he almost called, then wondered where that thought had come from.


	14. Chapter 14

A/N: An oddly (for me) G-rated chapter...

****

"Come on! We're gonna miss Sal's fight."

Kovacs' only response was to resettle the icepack on her nose.

Nikki drummed her fists on her knees in frustration. "Red, let's go!" she cried nasally. "I'm gonna look like a raccoon in the morning anyway. Leave it!"

He sighed. "There are two more bouts before Salvatore fights." Nevertheless, he removed the icepack, wiped the condensation of her face with a towel, and affixed a piece of trainer's tape over the bridge of her nose.

She rewarded him with a blinding grin.

"You're lucky that it is not broken," Kovacs muttered awkwardly.

"Hey." Nikki took his hand, her eyes growing earnest. "Red, I wanna-"

"Way to go, slugger!" Lester Lincoln called, appearing beside them with a lanky, balding white guy.

Kovacs thought he saw a look of annoyance pass over Nikki's face before she stood to greet the heavyweight, who kissed her cheek.

"For luck!" he explained, grinning.

"You don't need it," Nikki assured him. She released her grip on Kovacs' hand.

"Nikki!" The white guy put out his hand. "Johnny Lassiter. That was a great fight!"

Nikki shook hands. "Thanks, Mr. Lassiter. I appreciate it."

Lassiter smiled. A crystal dangled from a cord around his neck.

_Oh, god, he's one of those channeling-energy-through-quartz-pyramids people_, she thought.

"'Johnny', please," the promoter insisted. He ran a hand through his too-long brown hair. His eyes flickered toward Kovacs. Nikki got the distinct impression that the redhead made Lassiter nervous somehow.

"This is Walter Kovacs, Johnny. He's been training me for this fight."

The white men shook hands. Kovacs, as usual, registered no emotion.

"Well, Nikki, I'm sure you know why I asked Lester here to introduce us! I've got to set up a few fighters for a card up in Boston this summer, and I'd love to be able to bring _you_ to the table for the women's one-oh-five." Lassiter's green eyes twinkled.

Nikki blushed. "Wow. That's..." She looked at Kovacs, but his face indicated nothing. "That's quite an opportunity."

Lassiter reached into his inside coat pocket to retrieve a business card. He held it out between two fingers. "Look, Nikki, I know you're celebrating and everything here, so I don't wanna waste your time now. But just think about it. Call anytime."

She took the card. "Thanks! I'll get back to you."

The promoter glanced at Kovacs again. "Well, it was great to meet you, Nikki. Can't wait to hear from you!'

Nikki smiled. "You bet!"

Lester chucked her on the arm as he and Lassiter turned away. Then the heavyweight leaned into Kovacs' ear to mutter something.

"What did he say to you?" Nikki demanded when Lester and Johnny were well away.

Kovacs raised his eyebrows and bent to collect their items. He tucked towels, wraps, water bottles, and an assortment of other boxing detritus into a rucksack, then slung it over his shoulder. Nikki glared at him the entire time. At last he started walking toward the hallway that led to the ballroom. She scampered to catch up.

The redhead sighed as if what he was about to say contradicted his better judgment. "Lincoln said that, if you did not want to box, you could always work as the ring girl."

Nikki stopped dead. Her gaze shot across the room to where Lincoln was warming up. Lester paused in his routine and winked at her very deliberately. Grinning, he returned his attention to his coach.

"Oh, Christ," Nikki muttered.

A wry smile played around Kovacs' eyes. "Do _you_ want to break his arm, or shall I?"

"No, Red, you don't understand!" she said urgently, stepping closer to him. "Look, you don't know Lester, but...I have a feeling that he's going to be gunning for me tonight at the after-party."

"'_Gunning'_ for you?"

"Well, he's totally superstitious, so that means _at least_ six weeks...you know..." She raised her eyebrows suggestively.

Kovacs blinked.

"-and I think he wants me to be the lucky girl, so-called. What? Why are you looking at me like that? Red, please: I need your help. Do you think that you and I could pretend..."

He eyed her warily. "What?"

"Y'know," she said shyly, leaning in. "That we're..."

Pale brown eyes swiveled toward the heavyweight on the other side of the room.

"Come on, Red: just help me set up the _illusion_," Nikki begged.

"I will not lie," Kovacs insisted.

"You don't have to. We're just going to let him, y'know, believe what he sees."

He looked back at Nikki. "And what is he going to see, exactly?"

"There she is! Nikki!"

Sandra Washington traipsed down the hallway, waving her arms at her daughter. Nikki's father, beaming, lumbered along in the rear.

Kovacs hiked the rucksack farther up onto his shoulder. "Veronica, why don't I meet you inside?" He began to head for the ballroom.

Nikki grabbed his sleeve and tugged him back. "You can't just walk past them!" she hissed, giggling. She turned a welcoming smile on Sandra, whose eagle eyes did not fail to notice the small hand clutching Kovacs' arm. Nikki quickly released him and hugged her mother. Up close, the redhead realized that the Washingtons were not much older than he.

_No more years between me and Marcus_, he reckoned, _than between Nikki and me_.

"Congratulations, sweetheart!" Sandra crowed, squeezing her daughter tight. Then she pushed her out at arm's length. "Let me look at your nose. It's not broken, is it?"

"No, Mom! It's not broken. Angel _and_ Kovacs checked it."

"Where is Angel?" Sandra asked, pointedly looking down the hallway toward the fighters' holding room. Kovacs tried to see traces of Nikki in her mother. _The mouth...the shape of the face..._

Marcus rolled his eyes and embraced Nikki. "Great fight, baby!" he said quietly. "That third round! Damn!" Over his daughter's shoulder, Marcus met Kovacs' gaze.

_Definitely her father's eyes_, the redhead concluded.

"Walter Kovacs, sir," the redhead said politely, offering his hand.

"Marcus Washington. My wife, Sandra."

Nikki's mother greeted Kovacs, curiosity written plainly on her face. "It's so nice to finally meet you," Sandra gushed. "At our house everything is 'Red this' and 'Kovacs that'. You'd think-"

"Mom, why don't we go sit down?" Nikki interrupted, taking her mother's arm. "I don't wanna miss Sal's fight." Trying not to blush, she steered Sandra back toward the ballroom.

Marcus gave the southpaw an appraising stare, then snorted amiably. "Come on, son," he said, cocking his head after the women.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N: I do not own the music of The Clash or Peter Gabriel. Sorry for song-ficciness...I can't help it!

*****

Kovacs fought the instincts which urged him to run and stepped the rest of the way into the bar. At first glance, there seemed to be hundreds of people inside.

He surveyed the room, straightening his jacket and tie. He saw Lester Lincoln crammed into the outside seat of a booth, his massive body clothed in jeans and a button-down shirt.

Nikki stood by the bar on the other end of the establishment. He caught her eye, and she waved him over enthusiastically. He tried not to stare at her as he crossed the room. Artfully applied make-up covered any sign of that evening's damage to her face. Her legs seemed to go on for miles in knee-high boots with a four-inch heel and tight gray denim pants. A midnight blue blouse bared one smooth shoulder; the soft fabric skimmed the even softer curves of her bra-less breasts.

He suddenly felt a little overdressed.

Kovacs squeezed through the crowd to reach her. Nikki leaned forward and pecked him on the cheek too quickly for him to react.

"What are you having?" she asked, indicating the racks of liquor with her chin.

"Should be buying _you_ a drink."

Nikki shook her head. "No way! You're the reason I won! Besides, I need to get a drink in my hand before Lester buys me another shot."

Kovacs frowned. "How many have you had?"

"Two. I don't have the mass to keep that up, man." The bartender approached, and she looked at Kovacs helplessly. "Get me a _light_ beer, willya?"

The redhead leaned across to order two light beers. His eyes flicked across the room toward Lester Lincoln. "So what's going on?"

"Jesus, Red, it's _on."_ Nikki leaned in to be heard above the ambient noise. Her fingertips brushed his chest. "Lester won his fight _and_ the purse for knockout-of-the-night, so he's flush and ready to rock, if you know what I mean."

"_Should I stay, or should I go, now_," sang the jukebox.

Put it on my tab," she told the bartender, accepting their beers. "You okay?"

Kovacs was not sure how to answer that.

_If I go there will be trouble, and if I stay it will be double_

Nikki sighed. "I'm sorry, Red. I shouldn't have dragged you into this ridiculous..."

He swallowed.

_Exactly whom I'm supposed to be  
Dime quien tengo que ser_

"I mean, I'm a grown-ass woman. If I'm not into Lester, I can tell him to beat it. You've already done so much for me. It's not your job to..."

"Be your big brother," he muttered.

"And it's a damn good thing, shug," Nikki drawled, looking him up and down in what could only be described as a lascivious manner. The tip of her tongue prodded her front teeth.

There was a pause in which they stared into each other's eyes.

Then Kovacs set his beer on the bar. "What do you think about this tie?"

Nikki laughed and considered the offending article of clothing. "I think 'no'. Allow me." She loosened the tie and pulled it over his head. For lack of a better place, she put it on herself, letting it dangle between her breasts. Then she reached out to undo his top two buttons.

He glanced down dubiously. "Better?"

"Much better!" She beamed at her work.

Kovacs shifted under her gaze, anticipating that salacious expression again, but he noticed movement out of the corner of his eye. It was Lester, wending his way toward them. The heavyweight reached out to shake Kovacs' hand. Nikki remained where she was while the men shook, pointedly _not_ stepping away from the southpaw.

"Lemme get that cat's attention, baby," Lincoln said, nodding at the bartender. "I'll set us up another round of shots."

"Already got a drink, Lester," she replied, smiling and raising her beer in his direction.

Lester made a face. "That ain't a _drink_, Nikki." He waved the bartender over. When his hand dropped, it came to rest on Nikki's back.

"Would you like to dance, Veronica?" Kovacs asked suddenly.

She bit the inside of her cheek so as not to gape at him. "Sure, Red," she responded, her voice half an octave higher than normal.

The shorter man took her hand, draped it over his shoulder, and led her away from the bar toward the center of the room. She could feel Lester's eyes burning holes in her back. When Kovacs turned toward her on the dance floor, she giggled at the look in his eyes.

"You enjoyed that, didn't you?"

His lips twitched in amusement. "Yes," he admitted. "But the enjoyment ends here, because I do not know how to dance." Awkwardly, he placed one hand on the small of her back and tried to position himself according to some vague notion of couples' dancing.

"Crazy white boy."

Nikki slid her arms around his neck, leaving him no choice but to grasp her hips. His fingers brushed the swell of her buttocks, so he quickly returned his hands to her lower back. But then it felt so easy to let her move close and sway gently to the music.

Suddenly remembering the purpose of the entire exercise, he looked across the room at Lester. The heavyweight was talking to a tall, pretty blonde, but his eyes kept sliding away toward Nikki. Kovacs met the man's gaze and held it coldly. He drew Nikki closer. Lester broke the stare first.

"You win?" Nikki asked, her breath playing over his jawline.

"What do _you _think?"

She grinned. Her finger lightly stroked the back of his neck. Her unfettered breasts brushed his chest.

Kovacs swallowed. His heart was beating way too fast, and he struggled to slow it. He was starting to feel a little lightheaded.

"Mind if I cut in?"

Smooth as melted caramel, Lester had appeared at their side. Startled, Kovacs stepped back from Nikki, realizing too late that he had practically flung her at Lincoln. The heavyweight put his arms around Nikki and scooted her away.

_Ridiculous_, Kovacs thought. Jaw clenched, he returned to the bar and claimed his beer. _Finish the drink, then go. Just _go.

_You could have a stream train,  
if you just laid down your tracks._

His eyes strayed, almost of their own accord, to Nikki and Lester. The song on the jukebox now was faster than the one to which he had danced with Nikki, and the corresponding dance moves, apparently, involved significantly more hips.

_All you do is call me.  
I'll be anything you need.  
You could have a big dipper,  
Going up and down, all around the bends.  
You could have a bumper car, bumping.  
This amusement never ends._

Kovacs bit back disgust as Lester ground himself against Nikki in time to the suggestive lyrics. She was laughing. Kovacs' tie swung traitorously between her breasts.

_I want to be your sledgehammer.  
Why don't you call my name?  
Oh, let me be your sledgehammer.  
This will be my testimony._

He downed the rest of his beer, feeling the alcohol effervesce through his nerves, and slammed the glass down on the bar. When he let go, his hand was shaking.

_Show me round your fruitcage,  
cuz I will be your honeybee.  
Open up your fruitcage,  
where your fruit is as sweet as can be._

Lester was leaning to kiss her neck. His face dipped down against her cafe-au-lait skin, where the redhead's tie encircled her throat.

Kovacs shoved off from the bar and dove onto the dance floor at the same moment as Nikki thrust the heavyweight away. The southpaw reached out for Lincoln.

_I'm going to be the sledgehammer.  
This can be my testimony.  
I'm your sledgehammer.  
Let there be no doubt about it._

But somehow Nikki was between them. She had her arms around Kovacs' neck and was tugging him away.

"He can go fuck himself!" she cried into his ear. "He's not worth it!"

Kovacs was not sure that he agreed with this assessment, but Nikki's insistent hands reached inside his jacket to grab his shirt. His skin could feel her nails through the fabric. He looked away from Lincoln to meet the large dark eyes an inch away from his own.

"Hey!" Nikki said. Her smile banished everyone else in the room.

"Hey," he replied, mesmerized.

_I've kicked the habit,  
shed my skin._

She frowned and, digging into his inside coat pocket, she retrieved a cube of sugar. She cast a quizzical look at him that made him laugh. Tension drained out of his body.

_This is the new stuff.  
I go dancing in._

Nikki popped the cube into her mouth and bit down.

_Won't you show for me?  
I will show for you._

Suddenly her mouth was against his, sweet, wet, and hot. He parted his lips, allowing her tongue to thrust the sugarcube into his mouth. He moaned eagerly, gathering her body against his. Her fingers dug into the muscles of his chest. The sugar melted, drenching their mouths with sweetness. The delicious, curvy hardness of her body intoxicated him. His hands ached to roam over her.

_I've been feeding the rhythm.  
I've been feeding the rhythm.  
Going to feel that power build in you._

Slowly, Nikki pulled away from the kiss. Staring into his eyes, she closed her small teeth lightly around his lower lip. The sensation sent a thrill of desire shooting through him.

He would later curse this lust for slowing his reaction time when a large hand closed over his shoulder.

*****

A/N: Okay, so, yes, off-the-shoulder top on Nikki, but I've been watching "Ashes to Ashes"...

Also, I realize that "Sledgehammer" was not released until 1986 or so, but it just clicked for me. Sorry if it's lame...

Sorry for the 'sorry's!


	16. Chapter 16

A/N: Warning for language, Nikkilust, and some violence.

*****

Nikki would be lying if she claimed not to have been thrown out of a bar before, but it was true that she had never been ejected in such a chaotic and unceremonious manner.

Sal dragged her, howling like a banshee, down the sidewalk. Blood trickled out of her nose and into her mouth. She saw Kovacs barrel out of the bar after them, shaking Bernie off his arm. Angel and Rena brought up the rear, accompanied by an enormous bouncer who took up a menacing position at the door.

"Veronica!"

Kovacs took her face in his hands to examine her. Nikki pushed him off, bending forward and pinching the bridge of her nose. She could hear hurried whispers amongst the others.

"I'm sorry you had to get involved," she gasped.

Angel leaned toward Kovacs and told him quietly, "You may have just ended Lincoln's career."

The redhead sniffed.

A taxi pulled up to the curb. Johnny Lassiter emerged. He took one look at Nikki and frowned.

"What the hell happened to you?"

"Bar fight," she answered shortly.

"You're a handful, for such a little thing, aren't you?" he asked incredulously.

Bernie sighed. "You have no idea."

Sirens approached. Everyone turned their head to see an ambulance zoom around the corner toward them.

"Damn, what does the other guy look like?" Lassiter joked, fingering the crystal around his neck.

Nikki grimaced, exchanging a look with Kovacs. "It's Lester," she admitted.

The promoter's eyes flicked from her to the redhead, then to Bernie and Angel.

"How bad?"

Nobody said a word.

The ambulance arrived, and two EMTs hopped out. Grinding his jaw, Lassiter followed them past the bouncer into the bar.

Nikki groaned and sat down on the curb. She knew her pro contract would be a thing of the past, once Johnny saw what was inside.

While she and Kovacs were dancing, Lester had grabbed the southpaw's shoulder and spun him around. After the sucker punch that Lincoln then delivered to the redhead's gut, Nikki retaliated with a blow to the heavyweight's kidney. One of Lester's cornermen had intervened to pull the petite woman away, but Lincoln had flailed backward, and his forearm struck her in the nose. As Kovacs reached for the big man's head, he saw Nikki bare her teeth in a warlike grin, the blood flowing from her nose for the second time that night. A barbaric joy had risen through the southpaw's body in response to that smile; it lent strength to his leg when he dragged Lincoln's head down and kneed him brutally in the face. Kovacs felt the man's orbital bone crunch. The heavyweight keeled sideways. The redhead helped him down by dropping a hammerfist on the side of his head. It was at this moment that Bernie had waded in with Sal and Angel to save Kovacs and Nikki from themselves.

"Christ, she's as bad as you!" the gym owner had cursed, backing Kovacs toward the door.

Nikki rubbed her finger under her nostrils miserably as the cold of the pavement started to reach her buttocks.

"Looks like it's stopped," Kovacs murmured, kneeling to examine her. This time she permitted it. He manipulated the bridge of her nose. She breathed deeply through her mouth as pain arced deep into her head. "Still not broken. You're the luckiest person I've ever met."

"Luck's got nothin' to do with it, baby," she quipped, then looked down at herself. "Your tie, however, is not so fortunate."

He regarded the stained article dispassionately, then realized it might seem as if he were staring at her breasts. The breasts of a woman whom he had been kissing feverishly not a quarter hour before. Breasts which now protruded in tiny hard points through her shirt, stiffened by the cool night air.

He shrugged out of his suit coat and draped it around her, then stood.

Nikki glanced up at him, startled. "Aren't _you_ cold?"

"Fine like this."

"Who said chivalry was dead?" she muttered.

She slipped her arms into the coat and wrapped the lapels tight across her chest. Kovacs experienced an odd twinning sensation, wherein he was at once both himself and the jacket hugging Nikki's flesh.

One of the EMTs returned to the ambulance for a gurney and was just in time to meet a police cruiser. The officers stepped out to converse with the tech.

"Fucking hell," Nikki cursed.

She noticed that Kovacs had stiffened. He watched the policemen warily.

You a cop?

"Just play nice, okay?" she muttered so that only he could hear.

He shifted uneasily as the officers approached.

"Hey, guys, Lincoln swung first!" Sal assured them, pointing at the bar.

One of the cops, a skinny white man, raised his hands placatingly. "Alright, folks, don't worry. We'll get to the bottom of this."

Rena stepped forward. "It's real simple, boys," she said, hands on hips. "Lester slammed Walter in the gut, then hit Nikki. Walter was just fighting back."

The other cop was black and heavier than his partner. "Is that what happened?" He looked at each of them in turn. Sal, Bernie, and Angel nodded in agreement.

"Do you need medical attention, ma'am?" the white cop asked Nikki.

She shook her head, but not too much, because it was starting to ache terribly. Breathing through her mouth was starting to wear on her nerves.

"Show 'em your belly, Walter," Rena insisted.

Kovacs did not move.

"Sir, could we see the damage?" asked the white cop.

Looking away disdainfully, the redhead untucked his button-down and lifted his undershirt to reveal an angry red welt. The cops winced.

Nikki stared. She could not help herself. Kovacs was always showing up with strange bruises, some worse than this. She had asked about them, but he would ignore her questions. This bruise was impressive, but even more so was the stomach upon which it lay. Fair as a baby's, taut and muscled, Kovacs' belly was dusted with small freckles and a whisper of ginger fuzz. Even when he lowered his shirt, the image of his flesh was emblazoned in Nikki's mind. She gripped the curb convulsively.

At that moment, the EMTs emerged from the bar with Lester strapped onto a gurney. Everyone stared as the heavyweight was loaded into the ambulance.

"Folks, we'll just take your names, and then you can go on home," the black cop said.

Rubbing the back of his neck, Bernie stepped forward to identify himself and his wife.

Nikki startled when she heard the doors to the ambulance slam shut. Her head whipped around. One of the techs climbed into the cab and, starting the siren, peeled out.

Rena leaned over to give Nikki's shoulder a parting rub. Bernie opened his mouth as if to say something, but his wife shot him a look. He sighed.

"See ya, Walter," he said lamely. "Take care of yourself, Nik."

Then they disappeared into the night.

Nikki had not seen Johnny Lassiter approach. He joined her on the curb, folding his long legs in half, and gave Kovacs a look. The redhead stepped over to join Angel and Sal by the cops. Nikki curled into herself guiltily.

"Look, kid," the lanky promoter began, "no hard feelings about Lester, huh? I still would really like you to fight for me next month. I mean, I know it's a quick turn-around from tonight, but I think you can handle it."

"Wow, Johnny, I appreciate that-"

"Don't thank me yet. I have one condition."

Nikki knit her eyebrows. "Sure. What?"

"Kovacs." Lassiter jerked his head toward the southpaw. "He's not to train you."

Her jaw dropped.

"Work with Angel for now. I'll send one of my guys later for training camp. We'll make sure that you're ready to fight."

"Johnny," Nikki said, hesitating. "I don't know what to say about that. Kovacs is the one who-"

"He's a liability," Johnny said curtly. "I don't want him as your coach."

She turned to look at Kovacs, who was watching her guardedly even as the cops spoke to him. Suddenly she felt old and tired. "I...I have to think about it..."

Lassiter nodded. "I'm going to go have a word with Angel."

"...ok." Nikki watched him walk away, the light of the streetlamps reflecting off his gelled hair.

Kovacs was at her side in a second. "Is he cutting you loose?" he asked in a low voice.

She shook her head, slightly dazed. "No. He still wants to promote me. But there's a condition."

Light brown eyes met her gaze evenly.

And then Angel was there. He reached out to shake the southpaw's hand and waved goodnight to Nikki. She watched him nervously, but he indicated nothing about his conversation with Lassiter.

"I'll talk to you later, you crazy bitch," Sal said, dropping a fraternal kiss on the back of Nikki's head. She flashed him two fingers in a peace sign. The middleweight and his coach headed off into the city that never sleeps.

Nikki grimaced unhappily at Kovacs and fluffed her spiky hair. "I think he's pissed about what you did to Lester."

She meant Lassiter. Kovacs understood.

"He should be happy I didn't do worse," the southpaw growled. He ran a hand through his hair. "So how does this work?"

"He'll promote me so long as you're not involved in my training."

Kovacs shook his head in acknowledgement, gazing off at some point in the distance. "Fair enough. I'll tell him."

"Hey, wait!" Nikki bolted to her feet.

The redhead gave her an interrogative shrug.

"You just _decided_?" she hissed. "I don't get any say in it?"

"It's an easy deal, Veronica. Take it."

She grabbed his arm. Kovacs' eyes flickered toward Lassiter, who was watching them.

"But I want you to train me, Red."

He searched her eyes. "He's offering you a professional contract, Veronica. You really going to pass that up? I thought you wanted this. I thought you were a fighter."

"Red, that's not fair-"

He snorted in derision.

Before Nikki could say anything else, Kovacs had turned to Lassiter and offered his hand. The two men exchanged a few words, and then the redhead was walking off down the street in his shirtsleeves.

Rage closed Nikki's throat, and she could not make a sound to stop him.


	17. Chapter 17

A/N: Warning for language and a graphic description of embalming procedures.

*****

It was a complete coincidence, of course. Rorschach knew that there was no all-seeing deity jerking him hither and yon. There were no patterns. There were no coincidences.

And yet, of all the mortuaries in New York City, he had broken into the one where Veronica Washington was even now preparing a body for burial.

The corpse on the table was almost ready. Rorschach watched as Nikki finished filing and buffing the man's nails. She hummed along with the radio, examining a photograph of the man as he had been in life.

Rorschach's eyes wandered around the room. He caught sight of a hand-lettered sign hanging on a cabinet. After several lines of what might have been Latin, he read:

"Here I am, dead, and I am ash.

This ash is earth, and if the earth is a goddess,

then I am a goddess,

and I am not dead."

He disapproved of the specious reasoning in this logical argument but acknowledged the beauty of the sentiment all the same. Had Veronica put that there? It seemed like something she might appreciate.

He heard her gasp.

Rorschach's attention immediately returned to the seated woman, whose gaze was fixed on his shoe. Slowly her eyes traveled up his leg to his chest, and at last to his face. He remained still as a statue while her brain processed his presence.

****

Nikki grabbed at the prep table behind her, fingers scrabbling for a weapon, anything. She felt only Mr. Crowe's freshly-pressed suit.

"How did you get in here?" she hissed. "Who the fuck are you?"

The intruder did not speak. His head rotated slightly, like a mechanical owl's, tracking the progress of her hand across the table. Nikki clasped her fingers around a nail file and brought it slowly to her side. She watched the blank non-face. Her synapses fired.

"Aw, hell. I know who you are."

The masked man switched off the radio and held up the little Rorschach action figure that Larry had brought her the day before.

"Apparently," he growled.

Nikki's eyes narrowed. "Christ, Larry," she muttered. "It's a joke. Because I don't believe in Rorschach, but he believes in me. Larry – he works at the M.E.'s office – got me that."

Rorschach produced a low, wheezing laugh like an emphysema patient's. "Funny joke."

"Guess I have to believe in you now, since you're standing right in front of me." She cocked her head. "Or, at least, _someone _is."

"Smart girl," he replied. "Things are not always what they seem."

She lowered the nail file.

"Not afraid anymore? Even if not Rorschach, must be authentic."

"Yeah, well, I've cleaned up your messes before."

Nikki set the nail file down and returned to work on Mr. Crowe. After a moment of silence, she looked up inquiringly.

"So are you gonna torture me or something?"

"Maybe later." He wheezed again and replaced the action figure on the counter. "Looking for Jaime Morales-Arteaga."

Nikki stared at him without speaking.

"Informant at M.E. said transported here."

She arched an eyebrow. "Wonder if it was Larry you 'talked' to."

"Morales judged natural death."

"Mhm."

"No post mortem."

Nikki frowned at him. "So, what, you want me to give you access to one of my decedents? I don't think so."

"Valid reason."

"Not happening." She turned back to Mr. Crowe's face.

"Give him to me, or to Three-Eights. Your choice."

Nikki blended foundation without looking up. "What about the Three-Eights?"

"Morales a mule. Kilogram of narcotics in stomach. Three-Eights want it."

Her head jerked up. She stared at the black and white mask, searching for some indication of sympathetic humanity.

"Why should I believe you? See, if I cut into Mr. Morales' organs now without preserving him first, he's gonna start to go bad really fast, you get me? I don't like doing a half-assed job. Plus the paperwork."

Rorschach was silent.

Nikki dragged in a deep breath and rose from her seat.

"He's in the freezer."

She led the way down a hall to a stainless steel door. Unlatching it, she stepped in, breath puffing in the cold air. There was only one body in the freezer. Rorschach took hold of the gurney and helped her pull it into the workroom. Nikki checked the toe-tag automatically: it was Mr. Morales. She lifted the lower half of the sheet covering the decedent and laid it over his torso. Rorschach twitched slightly at the sight of the man's exposed genitalia. Nikki ignored him and reached for two medical masks. She offered Rorschach one. He refused. She shot him a look that said, quite plainly, 'suit yourself'. Fastening a mask over her own mouth, she pulled on a pair of latex gloves. She palpated Mr. Morales' abdomen carefully.

"Feel anything?"

Nikki grimaced, concentrating. "Hard to say, with all the gas build-up. I'm going to empty the abdominal cavity first." She retrieved a face-shield and donned it, then wheeled over the electric aspirator. Out of curiosity, she kept one eye on Rorschach as she pierced Mr. Morales' belly with the trocar. The vigilante did not react visibly. Nikki flipped a switch, and the machine shuddered to life. The aspirator began to vacuum gases and fluids out of the decedent. The trocar drew most of the smell into the machine.

Most of it.

Nikki could not help but laugh as Rorschach coughed at the stench. Wordlessly, she proffered the medical mask again with her off hand. He took it with good will, holding it over his mouth and nose, since tucking it behind his ears was not a viable option.

When she felt the abdomen was clear, Nikki switched off the aspirator and removed the trocar. She inserted her gloved finger into the hole, using her other hand to steer the stomach toward her questing digit. She pulled off the face-shield.

"There's definitely something in there," she concluded, her voice only slightly muffled by the cotton mask.

A scalpel gripped in her small hand, Nikki widened the hole in Mr. Morales' belly. After a moment she was able to reach inside and remove his stomach. She flipped it out onto his chest. It bulged unnaturally.

"You've got to be kidding me."

The scalpel went to work a second time.

"Bring me that basin," she ordered, jerking her head.

Rorschach handed her the small metal tub. Sixty seconds later, it was full of stuffed condoms. They regarded the small mountain in amazement.

"There's no way he could have swallowed that many," Nikki marveled.

The vigilante indicated the pile with one leather-bound finger. "Evidence suggests otherwise."

"How much is that worth on the street?"

Rorschach stared at her.

"What?" she asked, giggling.

Suddenly his head swiveled.

Nikki listened, but she heard nothing. "I don't-"

"Ladies room?"

"Yeah, it's-" she whispered, eyes wide.

"Go. Now."

"fuckfuckfuckfuck," Nikki breathed as she backed down the hall and locked herself in the bathroom.

Someone turned her radio back on and cranked the volume up. She heard one crash. Two. Three. A scream. Then the radio went silent.

Nikki counted to one hundred, then eased the bathroom door open. She crept toward the workroom. The gurney on which Mr. Morales lay had collapsed to the floor, but he and Mr. Crowe were otherwise unharmed. The drugs, however, were gone, and Nikki was the only living soul in the room.

"I seem to have that effect on men," she told Mr. Crowe.


	18. Chapter 18

Lassiter knew that Nikki was in no position to walk away from her job, even if this was a pro match for which she was training. So instead of sending her to Boston for pre-fight camp, he had hired Antonio Vera, a hefty Dominican who lived in the Bronx and could train her at Bernie's gym.

Vera was tough but fair. He had laugh-wrinkles around his eyes. He had seen everything in the course of his long career. In short, he was a great coach.

All of this Nikki would tell to anyone who asked. But sometimes she still caught Angel watching her as if she might suddenly snap and turn on the Dominican.

_Don't worry, Angel_, she wanted to tell him. _Kovacs who_?

The idea of saying the words aloud, however, made her uneasy, so she just returned Angel's looks with a reassuring smile.

It was only four days until the fight when Nikki's mother dropped a bomb in the middle of dinner.

"I beg your pardon?" Nikki spluttered, coughing bits of broccoli into her napkin.

"Honey," the blonde insisted, back-pedaling, "we thought you'd _want_ Walter there. He offered to pay us back for the train ticket, but we refused. After all he's done for you..." Sandra looked to her husband for support.

Marcus shrugged unhelpfully.

"Wait," she said, looking from one parent to the other. "Kovacs said he would come?"

"That's what we're trying to tell you, Nikki," her father said, cutting his chicken. "He's going to ride up with us."

"On the train. With you. To Boston." Nikki stared at her parents in shock.

"Well, what's so ridiculous about that?" Sandra asked peevishly.

Nikki's fork clattered onto her plate. "Mom, I don't even know how to _begin_ to answer that."

"You're not behaving very graciously, Veronica Jean."

Nikki glared at her chicken as if it were responsible for this fiasco.

"How did you even find him?" she asked at last.

Sandra's eyes cut toward her husband. "It was your father who recognized him."

"He's easy to find, baby," Marcus said simply, helping himself to more broccoli.

"Oh god. Dad, you didn't!" Nikki put her face in her hands. "Great. Did he explain to you exactly how nigh the end is? Sweet lord Jesus, kill me now. Let the earth just yawn open and swallow me."

Sandra took a sip of her iced tea. "Don't be so dramatic," she scoffed.

"Mom," Nikki told her plate. "I have to go talk to him."

"You should have done that weeks ago, baby," her father opined.

*****

Kovacs almost laughed at her little finger waving in his face, but he knew it would only infuriate her more.

"Look! I'll have you know that I had _nothing_ to do with my parents' little scheme to invite you to Boston."

He took her arm. Nikki struggled some, but he managed to lead her out of the foot traffic into the mouth of an alleyway. He set down his sign against the wall.

"Your parents informed me that they were extending the invitation without your knowledge." His voice was mild and sensible. He did not remove his hand from her arm.

"Yeah, well, it was..._totally_ without my knowledge," she agreed lamely.

Kovacs eyed her in silence, then at last said, "So you do not want me to go?"

She scuffed her foot on the pavement, grimacing. "Of course I want you to go," she sighed.

_Ya sexy goddamn alpha-male motherfucker_, she added mentally.

He shrugged. "Then I'll go. Problem solved."

"No, the problem is _not_ solved!" Nikki insisted. "I'm still seriously angry with you."

"Why?"

She stared at him aghast.

His mouth quirked. "I'm not a mind reader, Veronica."

"You have _no_ idea why I would be angry with you? Seriously? Maybe because you made an important decision for me, without even asking for my input. Dya think _that_ could be it?"

"It was not a viable choice that Lassiter gave you. You needed that contract."

"Did I? Well, I felt like...I dunno...like my virginity was being traded for camels, or something."

Kovacs frowned quizzically.

"Besides." She stepped away from his hand. "If you didn't want to coach me anymore, you could have just _told _me!"

He shifted uneasily. "I enjoy coaching you, Veronica. You're a hard worker and a skilled fighter."

"Yeah, but I'm a girl, right? And I can't take care of myself, so you have to make decisions for me. Like telling Johnny Lassiter I was in. Or picking a fight with Lester."

"Don't be unreasonable. Lincoln hit me first."

"Red, you and I both know that you ran out on that floor when he and I were dancing so you could kick his ass."

"He kept..._touching_ you. It was disgusting."

"Maybe I _liked_ him touching me," Nikki suggested.

"You pushed him away!"

"Exactly, Red! I did. Doesn't that show you I know how to take care of myself?"

Kovacs rubbed the back of his head.

Nikki sighed and slouched into the doorway behind her. "Look, we'll get you a hotel room for Saturday night, too."

"Not necessary. I'll take the train back after the fight."

"No way, Red!" she exclaimed, waving her finger at him again. "You have to come to the after-party with me. I don't know _anybody_ there."

"Don't think Lassiter will like me going," he replied, cocking his eyebrows at her.

Nikki shrugged defiantly.

"Angel will be there, yes?"

"You're a better dancer," she said, grinning.

He blushed. He looked so vulnerable that her hands itched to touch him. She pulled him toward her and rested her palms on his chest. The early dusk cast shadows on his face as he joined her in the doorway.

"I might make another scene."

"Yeah, the Boston P.D. hasn't seen the famous Kovacs meet-and-greet." She laughed. "I bet Lester is still breathing out the back of his head."

The redhead gave her a sharp look. "I don't ever want to hear you say his name again," he said quietly.

Nikki could not help herself. She pursed her lips and cooed, "Lester."

"What did I just say?" Kovacs growled.

"Lester," she repeated, rolling the 'l' sensuously.

Kovacs stopped her mouth with a kiss. Nikki moaned, yielding to him, and accepted his probing tongue eagerly between her lips. He tasted like coffee. She frowned when he pulled away.

"Prepared for the fight?"

"Yes, Red," she answered obediently.

"Nervous?"

"No, Red."

"Gonna make weight?"

"What? You saying I look fat?"

He chuckled softly.

"I'm glad you're coming," Nikki whispered, searching his light brown eyes.

Kovacs stepped away from her and kissed the back of her hand. She gasped as his rough stubble grazed her flesh.

"Be careful what you wish for, Veronica."

He picked up his sign.

"I'll see you Saturday," he said.


	19. Chapter 19

Nikki karaoke-skipped around the ring, watching the approach of Sveta Nagy. The Eastern European, a tiny blonde, was accompanied into the arena by a small squad of trainers who would have been perfectly at home with the Odessa boys you saw on the boardwalk at Brighton Beach. Nagy pummeled her own face lightly with her gloves, psyching herself up for the fight.

Nikki stole a quick look at Kovacs and her parents as she scooted by. She wondered how the train ride had been. Silent and awkward? Or had her mother chatted insufferably the entire way? From the audience Sandra blew her a kiss, and Marcus gave her a thumbs-up, but the redhead just stared. For some reason, Nikki found herself remembering her second encounter with the masked vigilante who called himself Rorschach.

Keep your mind in the fight, girl!

Her revolutions around the ring were beginning to make her dizzy.

"Christ-on-a-handcart!" she had sworn, turning around to find Rorschach right behind her, hands in his coat pockets. The shadowy blobs on his mask swirled in a discomfiting manner.

"Good evening, Ms. Washington."

Nikki placed her hand over her heart and took a deep breath. "Wish I could say it was a pleasure to see you again."

The vigilante walked over to Mrs. Lacey. He stared down at the decedent for a moment, then leaned over to examine the old woman's face.

"How are eyelids kept closed?"

The mortician opened one of Mrs. Lacey's eyes and gently extracted what appeared to be a thick contact lens. She held it out for Rorschach's inspection.

"This goes on the eyeball," she explained. "See the tiny prongs? When the lid is closed, the prongs trap it in the down position. Sort of like Velcro."

Rorschach harrumphed and watched carefully while Nikki replaced the stopper.

"Already been...aspirated?"

Nikki nodded, pulling back the sheet to show him the plug in Mrs. Lacey's belly.

"That's the hole where the trocar went," she said before realizing that he had averted his eyes from the decedent's uncovered breasts. She rolled her eyes and put the sheet back. "For crying in the mud, it's just meat."

"Meat and mucus," he responded. The vigilante noticed her look and shrugged. "What Marcus Aurelius said."

"Must've been a mortician."

"Roman emperor."

"Oh." Nikki went to the dry cleaner's bag hanging on the wall; it contained the dress Mrs. Lacey's daughter had selected for her mother's final dressing.

"Fighting Saturday night."

She stared at him in confusion for a moment, then realized he meant her. "How'd you know that?" she asked, letting the flimsy plastic drift back down.

"Know things," he said loftily.

"Well, then you know it took all of my not-negligible skill to cover up that little junkie shuffle two weeks ago," she declared, one hand on her hip. "Not a soul found out, no thanks to you."

"Collateral damage."

Nikki turned back to Mrs. Lacey's dress and unwrapped it completely.

Side zipper. Good. That makes it easier.

"Where are the drugs now?" she asked, riffling through a paper bag for bra and pantyhose. She gathered up one leg of the stockings into a short tube.

"Destroyed."

"Hell, what'd you do: burn it?" Nikki grunted as she worked the hose onto Mrs. Lacey's stiff foot. "Bet that was a rad party."

"Not for Three-Eights," Rorschach sniffed.

She watched him out of the corner of her eye. The vigilante turned away when she hiked the pantyhose up to Mrs. Lacey's waist. Nikki considered asking if he had killed any of the gang members who had been after Mr. Morales. Maybe he had committed murder here, in this very room, on the night of their first meeting. She bit back the question and pulled the hose smooth with tiny tugs up and down Mrs. Lacey's legs.

He was looking again at the action figure Larry had brought her. He turned the homunculus this way and that, regarding it from various angles.

"Think it's a good likeness?" Nikki inquired, reaching for Mrs. Lacey's brassiere.

Rorschach seemed to cogitate thoroughly before answering. "Good enough. Toy for children."

"Yes," she replied, casting an odd look his way. "Kids play with it. They deepen their voices and pretend they're running around chasing bad guys. 'Stop right there, dirtbag. Hands up.' "

He contemplated the action figure for a long moment.

"Was there something you wanted, Rorschach?"

The vigilante set his tiny doppelganger on the counter and turned away. "No. Nothing. Good night, Ms. Washington."

She had stared after the departing figure, mystified, Mrs. Lacey's bra dangling from one hand.

Rorschach's gruff voice echoed in Nikki's mind now as she squared off against Sveta Nagy for the third round of an all-out slugfest.

_Good night, Ms. Washington_.

Nikki shook her head with irritation, focusing in on Nagy's chest. Little Sveta had a surprising amount of power behind her punches. The first two rounds had ensured that Nikki would be totally black-and-blue in the morning.

Nagy threw a loose combo that Nikki blocked easily. The blonde was getting sloppy.

It had been a close fight, and both women were starting to tire. If neither of them made something happen in this round, the decision would go to the judges, and Nikki was not thrilled with the idea of leaving it to them. She relaxed her shoulders and waited for her chance.

One minute into the round, Nagy began to drop her gloves after delivering a combination. Nikki watched carefully. The blonde's cornermen were jabbering furiously at her in Russian. Nikki saw the strike beginning in Sveta's shoulders, so she loaded up too. She stepped forward into Nagy's fierce jab, and for a moment she thought it was over, she was going down; then her right continued its forward motion and crashed into the blonde's jaw.

Nagy dropped where she stood.

Vera and Angel were over the ropes before Nikki was even sure what had happened. Antonio bear-hugged her, raising her into the air.

"Good night, Miss Nagy," Angel crowed victoriously.

Good night, Ms. Washington.

Over Vera's head, Nikki's eyes went to Kovacs. A broad smile cracked his face in half. He was on his feet, clapping, alongside the other spectators. Everybody loved a knock-out.

Good night, Ms. Washington.

_Oh, shit._


	20. Chapter 20

Sandra Washington checked her lipstick in the mirror of Nikki's hotel room.

"Actually, I thought it was quite a pleasant ride. Walter and your father had a very spirited discussion about Nixon's Vietnam policies."

Nikki's eyes went wide with horror.

"The guy's very intelligent," Marcus admitted, patting his daughter's shoulder reassuringly. "Very well-informed. Gave me some good food for thought."

"At any rate, he's waiting in the lobby, sweetheart. Don't keep him too long."

"I won't, Mom."

"We're going for a stroll and a nightcap, but we won't be too long. Drop by our room if you need anything."

"Well," Marcus sighed, rolling his eyes at Nikki, "we'll let you get changed. Have a good time tonight. Don't stay out too late."

"Ditto." Nikki kissed her father on the cheek. "Good night."

The door clicked shut behind Marcus and Sandra.

Nikki took a deep breath and went to take a shower. She scrubbed sweat, blood, and petroleum jelly off her body. She dried off with the disappointingly flimsy hotel towel. She brushed her teeth and applied deodorant. A little make-up, a little attention to the hair. Panties, bra, dress, earrings, heels, purse.

Mirror.

Door.

Stuffing the room keys into her purse, Nikki stalked down the hallway to the elevator and punched the 'L' button. The ride was interminable.

Kovacs jumped to his feet when she emerged from the elevator and started walking toward her. Nikki drew strength from the bottom of her soul to smile at him as if everything were normal.

"Hi, Red. You ready to go?"

He shook his head and steered her back into the open elevator.

"Hey!"

"You're not going out like that."

Nikki's eyes popped wide.

"You're on Six, right?" He punched the button, not waiting for her answer. "You need to change out of that dress."

She sputtered with shock and outrage as the elevator shuddered into motion. "What are you, the fashion police? There is nothing wrong with my dress."

"It's way too short. You look like a prostitute."

Nikki took a swing at him, but Kovacs was too fast. He grabbed her small fist and held it. Grimacing, she wrested her hand back. Her elbow struck the wall of the elevator, and electric pain rocketed up her humerus.

"Goddamnit!"

Kovacs took her elbow apologetically and began to rub it, but Nikki jerked away. The elevator beeped. A businessman stepped on from the fourth floor. He looked pointedly away from the arguing couple. They rode in pregnant silence up to Six, where Nikki and Kovacs stepped off. She fumbled the keys out of her purse and dragged him into her hotel room, then slammed the door.

"Alright," she began, throwing purse and keys on the floor. "Where the _fuck_ do you get off? You seem to have gotten it into that thick, red head of yours that you have some control over me. You're not my father. And, you know what, I wouldn't even let my father treat me like this! You are _not_ the arbiter of what I want, or what I do, or what I wear! You tell me to dress like a girl, then you tell me that dressing like a girl makes me look like a hooker. Well, I don't need your puritanical system of morality. It's my body, and I'm not ashamed of it, and it kinda _pisses me off_ that you are."

Kovacs stared at her as she paused for breath. His face was unreadable.

"I don't want men looking at you like that," he said finally.

"Like _what_? Like I'm a woman?"

"Like you're an object."

Nikki knocked her head lightly against the wall behind her and groaned, "Walter Kovacs, closet feminist."

"Will you please change clothes, Veronica?"

She sniffed. Unbuttoning her dress, she pulled it over her head and threw it aside. He averted his eyes from her partially clothed form, staring at the hotel carpet as if it contained the secret to controllable nuclear fusion.

"What's wrong, Red? It's just meat. 'Meat and mucus': that's what Nero said."

"Marcus Aurelius," he corrected.

Nikki grinned.

His light brown eyes dragged themselves up to meet her gaze. Nikki cocked her chin up defiantly. After a moment of silence, her certainty began to drain away. Then she saw something: an odd look in his eyes, a quirk to his mouth.

"Veronica," he growled, and it was Rorschach's voice that spoke her name.

"Damn, I'm good," she whispered. "Why'd you come to see me like that, Red? Why did you come as Rorschach?"

A muscle near his eye jumped. "First time was a coincidence. I tracked Morales from the M.E. Had no idea that was the mortuary where you work."

"And two nights ago? You came back. Why?"

His soldier-straight shoulders slumped, and Kovacs leaned his forehead against hers. "Wanted to see you."

"As Rorschach?"

"Rorschach's stronger. Not weak like Kovacs."

"I don't understand."

"Rorschach could see you without wanting."

"Wanting what?"

He swallowed miserably.

"I thought you were a rational man, Red. But there's nothing rational about this. Kovacs, Rorschach, whoever. You're still a man. But this...abstinence. It's just fear, isn't it?"

"I'm not afraid," he muttered.

"No?" Nikki challenged. She pressed her body against his. "A wise man once told me that we shouldn't fear anything that can't kill us."

"I'm not afraid," he repeated.

"Then kiss me."

He did not move.

"Kiss me because you want to and because you're making a conscious, rational decision to pursue that desire. Or else tell me you're not interested and get the fuck ou-"

Her final word devolved into a hum of pleasure as Kovacs covered her mouth with his own. Nikki cupped her hand eagerly around his cheek and returned the kiss. His fingertips grazed her bare waist. Her eyes looked drunk when he pulled away, but her voice was cool and collected.

"Now. What's the logical next step?"

The redhead eyed her warily.

"Let's examine the facts at hand. One: I've discovered a secret about you that, I suspect, very few other people know."

"None," he muttered.

"Nobody?" she asked, eyes wide. "I _am _good. Okay, two: you trust me with that secret because you know I would never do anything to hurt you."

His eyes flicked down, then up, almost coyly.

"Three: I want you. In a very real, very physical way." She hooked her finger over the vee created by his unbuttoned shirt collar. No tie tonight. Her fingertip brushed the hem of his undershirt. He was breathing heavily. She unbuttoned the top button of his shirt.

"Four," she continued.

"I want you," he rasped.

Nikki bit her lip, fighting her own desire.

"Lust isn't logical."

"No," she admitted. "But it's a fact we need to work with." She undid another button and slipped her hand under his shirt, stroking the hard muscles of his chest through his threadbare tee. His skin was fever-hot under the thin cotton.

"You're right." He buried his face in the crook of her neck and kissed the soft skin of her throat.

"Five," she whispered, eyes almost rolling back in her head.

"Yes?" he murmured expectantly. His mouth trailed down her neck to her bra strap. He clasped the piece of elastic between his lips and dragged it over her shoulder.

"I forgot what 'five' was..."

"That's a shame," Kovacs told her clavicle. "A fifth point would really have persuaded me." He flicked the hollow of her throat with his tongue-tip, and she shivered.

"Oh, god, I remember 'five'. Five: I have some condoms in my bag."

"Big plans for Boston?" he growled menacingly.

"Actually, yeah," she teased, sliding the coat off his shoulders. "I was going to get you drunk and have my way with you."

"Funny. I had a similar plan."

Nikki laughed uproariously at his perfect deadpan. "So we're in agreement on the only logical course of action here?"

Kovacs sighed laboriously.

Grinning, Nikki darted into the bathroom to retrieve the condoms. When she emerged, the redhead was staring at her in a very particular way; she had almost forgotten that she was wearing nothing but a bra, panties, and high-heeled shoes. Nikki put a little strut in her step as she approached him. Grabbing his hand, she dragged him toward the bed. She sat down and leaned back, crossing her legs primly. Staring down at her, Kovacs unfastened the remaining buttons on his shirt. She watched hungrily. He shrugged out of the button-down, and Nikki hummed encouragement, recalling the first day she had met him and the lust that had wracked her at the sight of his body.

It had been weeks since she had seen Kovacs' naked arms, but the sight was well worth the wait. Her lips parted slightly in anticipation as he grabbed the lower hem of his undershirt. Nikki gasped at the pale musculature rippling along his torso when he removed the tee. She collapsed back on the bed.

"Christ, Red, you're killing me," she breathed.

He frowned slightly at her words. Nikki sat up, fingers nimble to unbuckle his belt.

The phone trilled.


	21. Chapter 21

A/N: M for Mature (yay!).

*******

The phone trilled.

Groaning, Nikki flopped over onto the bed and eyed the instrument balefully. It rang again, the red message light flashing in time. She looked over her shoulder at Kovacs, who had cocked his head to enjoy the view of her posterior.

"It's probably Angel," he said coolly. His gaze trailed lazily up her body toward her face.

Brrrringg.

The party! Shit! She had totally forgotten. Under the circumstances, of course, she felt the lapse was forgivable. She briefly considered ripping the phone out of the wall.

Brrrringg.

Nikki whimpered in frustration, then clambered across the bed and snatched up the handset.

"Yes? This is Nikki."

"Where are you, _chica_?"

"Angel! Hey, I'm in my room. Been icing my shoulder."

The redhead leaned down. Picking up his undershirt, he began to untangle the garment. Nikki made a face and gestured violently for him to cease and desist immediately. He shrugged and indicated the phone with his head.

"You need to get over here, Nikki. Lassiter's asking for you."

Nikki understood the urgency in her coach's voice. This was part of the deal, part of being a pro fighter. Promoters would be more likely to put her on their card if her name stuck out to them, and her name would stick out if they had met her in person, especially after a knockout like she had delivered tonight.

"In the tower, right, Angel?" she asked, grimacing.

"Number 1104."

"Ok, be there in ten."

She jammed the handset down on the receiver. Turning, she saw that Kovacs was already slipping on his shirt.

"Don't," Nikki begged, jumping up.

"I don't think it's that type of party, Veronica."

Frowning, she smoothed the front of his shirt. She felt his pectorals flex in a very enjoyable way as he shrugged.

"We've waited this long. So what's another hour?"

"An _hour_?" she wailed in horror.

The redhead chuckled and began to tuck his shirttails into his pants.

"How long?" she asked quietly, not moving away from him.

"Hm?"

"How long have you been waiting?"

Kovacs gave her an amused look but said nothing.

Nikki focused on his jawline when she said, "Remember when we met, and I asked you to spar?"

His mobile lips curved in a smile.

"You took your shirt off," she whispered, "and I wanted you so bad I couldn't see straight." Boldly, she raised her eyes to meet his.

Turning away, he crossed the room to retrieve her dress. Nikki's face crumpled with hurt and disappointment. Kovacs ignored her. Expertly, he flipped the dress right-side-out and shook it.

"Arms."

"Red..."

"Get dressed."

His eyes begged her for something she could not identify. She realized that he was trembling. Nikki leaned in, pushing the dress aside, and kissed him cautiously. He stepped back, eyes downcast.

"If you want to go to the party, we need to go now," he spat through gritted teeth. He held out the dress. She frowned and closed her hand over his wrist.

"Why? Red, I don't understand. What's wrong?"

"_Now, _Veronica. Before..."

"Before what?"

Nikki searched his light brown eyes. With infinite care, she slithered against him and twined her arms around his neck. He permitted this, but his eyebrows knit together. As her hips slid into contact with his body, she gasped to feel the bulge at his groin.

Her dress tumbled from his grasp. Her hands grabbed his wrists and placed his palms decisively on her panty-clad buttocks. His fingers squeezed her bottom roughly. She parted his lips with her own and slid her tongue inside his mouth. Ferocious and lightning-fast, his hand clasped her thigh and cocked her leg up to his hip; he thrust his body into her, pinning her against the wall. She moaned with desire and ground her pelvis on his. He ravaged her mouth desperately.

Nikki slid her hands between them to work the buckle on his belt, then unfasten his trousers. He groaned into her mouth when her fingers closed over his erection. She wriggled out of his grasp, pulling her lips away, and he stared at her in confusion as she went to her knees. When she drew him into her mouth, he gave a choking cry. She abandoned all niceties; she could play and tease later. Sucking him deep into her throat, Nikki worked his shaft with lips and tongue. Kovacs braced himself against the wall, fingernails scraping on the cheap brocade paper. She squeezed his balls lightly, and he came, emptying himself down her throat. She swallowed the fluid eagerly as he shuddered.

Nikki nuzzled his flagging member until he stumbled back to sit on the bed. Kovacs stared at her, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

"Is that what you were so worried about?" she asked, smiling and licking his juices idly off her thumb.

"Veronica-"

She rolled her eyes. _I should have known._

"Don't start, Red."

Nikki rose and went into the bathroom to brush her teeth. When she emerged, Kovacs was sitting in the same position, his genitalia almost comically exposed in his lap.

"Come on," she announced brusquely. "We have a party to go to."

Mechanically, he rose and began to straighten himself up. Then he fetched her dress from the floor and made as if to pull it over her head. Obediently, Nikki allowed him to slip the dress onto her body and button it up.

"That's not what I wanted," he muttered, fumbling with a buttonhole. "I didn't ask you to do that."

"So pay me back later," Nikki retorted peevishly.

He straightened and placed his rough cheek against her soft one. His hands clasped her hips lightly. She breathed in his scent, wanting to melt against him.

"Guess I can find out if you _taste_ like coffee ice cream, too."

Her eyes fluttered shut as moist heat shot to the base of her belly. "Okay, we need to walk out that door _now_." She thought she felt him smile against her cheek. Jelly-legged, she bent to pick up her purse and keys.

Kovacs froze in the middle of putting on his jacket.

"What? Do I still look like a prostitute?"

He shook his head slowly and straightened his coat.

Nikki narrowed her eyes at him. "Oh my god," she muttered. "Rorschach is an ass man."


	22. Chapter 22

A/N: Not my best, admittedly, but I find it a challenge to write plot chaps when there are Walters to be ______ed (supply your own salacious verb).

*******

They crossed the lobby to the other set of elevators, where Kovacs punched the 'up' button. Nikki took a deep, calming breath and messed with her spiky hair. One set of doors opened, beeping, and they stepped in. She hit '11', then gazed out through the glass sides as the elevator whooshed up the side of the hotel's tower.

"Wow," Nikki murmured, staring out at the lights of Boston on a summer night.

Kovacs looked supremely unimpressed.

"You don't think that's beautiful?"

"It's a city. People being born, people dying."

She stared at him. "I think you were a mortician in a past life."

The elevator stopped, and the doors parted. They stepped out into the well-appointed hallway. The way to suite 1104 was immediately apparent. Music streamed out through the open door, which two large bouncers guarded. A sizeable crowd was visible inside; Nikki exchanged a look with Kovacs, whose expression indicated that he would rather have his kidneys gouged out with a spoon than enter the party. She raised her eyebrows at him, and he jerked his head gamely toward the suite.

One of the bouncers, a wide-shouldered black man in a camel-colored suit, raised a hand to stop them as they approached.

"Nikki Washington. Plus one."

"The Undertaker!" exclaimed the other bouncer, a corn-fed white guy with a crewcut who had probably been a tight end for Nebraska. "_Righteous_ knockout!"

"Thanks," Nikki replied, blushing.

"Come on in!"

Herbie Husker ushered them through the door. The black bouncer nodded curtly.

Nikki could not help but be impressed by the suite. The large central room contained a black leather sectional that could have seated thirty, the glass table in the dining area was covered with hors d'oeuvres, and no fewer than two waiters manned the wet bar in the corner. The exterior walls were glass panels, providing a different view of Boston by night.

Lassiter waved them over from a spot near the windows. Vera, with whom the promoter had been speaking, smiled at Nikki and Kovacs as they approached.

"How ya feeling, tiger?" Lassiter asked, leaning forward to peck Nikki on the cheek. He reached out to shake the redhead's hand. "Kovacs."

"I'm okay, thanks, Johnny. This is gorgeous!"

They fell into shoptalk, Vera appraising Nikki's performance, Lassiter making plans for future events. At some point, Kovacs wandered away to fetch drinks for Nikki and himself. She half-feared that Lassiter would take the opportunity to say something to her in the southpaw's absence, but the conversation continued without break. When Kovacs returned from the bar, he sipped his drink slowly, not saying much. She looked at him from time to time, however, and his eyes spoke volumes. He stood so close to her that she could barely restrain herself from touching him.

Nothing inappropriate. Just a hand through his elbow.

Still, she did not dare. Not in public.

Angel joined their circle, and Vera wandered. Guests kept coming up to greet Lassiter or congratulate Nikki. Her patience was wearing thin; the smile-blush-and-thank routine got old quickly. All she could think about was the way that Kovacs looked shirtless.

"Look, Johnny," she began. "I'm wiped. I hate to cut out so early, but-"

"Just a sec, ok, Nikki?" Lassiter interrupted. "Vera's coming back, and he's got someone with him I think you should meet."

Nikki turned to see Antonio Vera approaching with an Italian guy about Sal's size. He seemed vaguely familiar, but she could not place him. Vera began to introduce her to the newcomer.

"Nikki, I'd like you to meet Lou Pantoliano. He managed to catch your fight tonight, and he was really impressed."

Her eyes widened as she stuck her hand out to shake. "Louie Pants! Omigod, it's a pleasure!"

The Italian shook hands, the creases around his hazel eyes deepening as he smiled. His lip was cut from a nasty jab his opponent had delivered in the evening's title fight. Pantoliano's win tonight had probably earned him about what Nikki made in a year as a mortician.

"I can't believe you saw my fight!" she enthused. A certain part of her was looking down on Nikki Washington from above, wondering why she was acting like such a goofball. She wished Kovacs would pinch her or something.

"You've got some great skills, hon. You could go a long way."

"Wow," she managed, blushing for the umpteenth time that night.

"In fact," Pantoliano continued, exchanging a glance with the Dominican, "Antonio and me would like you to come train with us at Top Force."

Nikki's jaw dropped. She turned to Lassiter, who smirked; she could practically see the dollar bills rolling through his eyes like the windows of a slot machine. Angel grinned at her and winked. Kovacs just stared, that expressionless mask plastered on his face. She willed him to say something, do anything. He simply watched her.

She looked back at Louie Pants, one of the best-known boxers in New York City, and found herself at a loss for words.

"I..."

Pantoliano smiled sympathetically. "Just come on over to see us whenever you get a chance. You know where we are?"

"Uh, yeah," she answered, not intending to sound quite so sardonic.

"Good to meetcha, Nikki."

"Yeah. You too."

Nikki stared after the light heavyweight, then took a stiff shot of her drink.

"I know what you're thinking, _chica_," Angel said, giving her a deliberate look. "But it's just business. This kind of thing happens all the time. You have to do what's best for your career."

_Like Lester Lincoln did?_ she wanted to say.

Lassiter put a comforting hand on her shoulder. "He's right, Nikki."

"Angel, I can't leave you, and Bernie, and Sal, and everybody..." she groaned miserably.

The promoter's eyes cut toward Kovacs, who glared back silently.

"Sleep on it, okay, baby?" Angel begged. "We'll talk about it when we get back to the City tomorrow."

Nikki leaned over to kiss her coach on the cheek. She was suddenly overwhelmed with love and gratitude for him.

"You're the best, Angel," she whispered.

He threw a one-armed hug around her waist and squeezed her.

"Good night, Johnny. Thanks for everything."

Herbie Husker gave her a thumbs-up as she and Kovacs left the party. Nikki smiled back wearily. Inside the elevator, she slumped against the handrail.

"Christ, that was more grueling than the fight," she sighed.

The elevator hummed.

"Well, are you gonna say something, Red?"

"Congratulations."

"Oh, for crying in the mud...I'd hit you but my hands are killing me."

She stared out at the city, watching the ground rush up to meet them. The elevator dinged, and she set off across the lobby. She was not sure if she cared whether he followed or not.

Regardless, she found that Kovacs was riding up to the sixth floor with her, along with a pair of middle-aged couples in sensible shoes. One of the women kept staring at the redhead as if she knew him from somewhere. Like maybe a 'Wanted' poster.

Nikki stepped off on Six, and Kovacs walked her to the door of her room down the silent, carpeted corridor.

"I can catch the late train back to the City," he said, already backing away.

"Don't you dare," she ordered, grabbing his hand. He hesitated, and she reeled him in. Latching his arm securely around her waist, Nikki dug into her purse for the keys and let them into the room.

"Is this about payback?" he asked mildly.

"No," she answered and flung her purse on the floor. "This is about you and me, and letting the rest of the world go to hell. Are you in?"

Nikki loved seeing Kovacs grin.


	23. Chapter 23

A/N: Warning for s**M**ut (at long last).

*******

"Give me a minute to wash up. When I come out," she said, looking him up and down in a way that made his body react as if touched, "I want you back the way I had you before."

Veronica disappeared into the bathroom. He took off his jacket and laid it over a chair, then sat down to unlace his shoes. The bathroom faucet switched on. He sat for a minute in bare feet, staring at the packs of condoms that lay abandoned on the bedspread. His eyes wandered toward the telephone on the bedside table. As he unbuttoned his shirt, he walked casually around the bed and removed the handset from the cradle. He placed the condoms on the bedside and pulled back the quilt to reveal the clean white sheets beneath. Then he returned to the chair to deposit his shirt, tee, and belt.

A noise outside drew him to the window. He parted the curtains and looked out. A large airship was passing over the hotel. He followed its flight with his eyes while Veronica shut off the faucet, flushed the toilet, and opened the bathroom door. Her heels made a distinctive noise on the carpet as she approached him.

"Did I miss anything?" she sighed, slipping her arms around his waist from behind. Her flesh was cool and smooth against his. Her clothed breasts pressed into his back. He grasped her small hands and raised them to his lips.

"Should ice these," he murmured. "If they're sore."

"I have a better idea. It consists of distraction."

Her teeth grazed the skin of his back. He shivered pleasurably. She squeezed him tighter.

"I'm sorry about earlier, Veronica."

"What about earlier?" she asked, nuzzling him.

"I didn't want you to do that."

"Yes, you did," she retorted with good humor. "And I wanted to do it. And I'm liable to do it again at any given moment, so you better watch out."

"Guess I should keep your mouth busy then," he muttered, turning around. She giggled as he planted a firm kiss on her lips. He looked down at her and frowned to see the red welts rising on her beautiful flesh.

"You'll be black and blue in the morning," he lamented, tracing the outlines of the contusions gently with his fingertips.

She took advantage of this distraction to haul him toward the bed and tumble him down onto it. "Yellow and black and blue," she teased, straddling him. "And you don't have any idea how long I've wanted to do this." Leaning down, Veronica licked him from his navel to his throat. Her little pink tongue was soft and hot and wet, and he could not help but think of how it had felt on his erection just a short time ago. He was growing stiff already.

His hands went to her back to unfasten her black bra as she diligently licked the ridges of every muscle on his belly and chest. His skin felt cold and tingly where her tongue had passed. She was lapping at his collarbone when the clasps on her bra yielded, and he slipped the garment down her shoulders.

"Veronica."

She looked up, smiling, her dark eyes heavy with desire, and pulled the bra entirely off. Her breasts were just as he had imagined: small ripe fruits with delicious soft brown tips. He sat up, gripping her securely around the waist, and ducked his head to taste. She placed her palms behind her on his knees for balance as she arched her back. He stroked the strong muscles that embraced her spine and rolled her nipple gently between lips and tongue. She moaned with pleasure, and a surge of triumph billowed through him.

"I have to warn you, Red: I get kinda loud."

"You, loud?" he murmured around her nipple. "I'm shocked."

"You think you're funny, but you're....ohh..."

"This one looked lonely," he explained. He focused on stimulating her other nipple into a hard little berry like the first. It did not take long.

Veronica shifted her hips slightly, and he could feel the moisture soaking through her black panties. His erection sprang to painful attention. He pressed his face between her breasts, desperate to calm his lust.

"What's wrong?" Veronica asked.

She put her arms around his shoulders and stroked his hair. He shook his head, fingers digging into her back.

"Tell me."

"Been a long time since I've done this," he admitted quietly.

"It's been a long time for me too." She kissed the top of his head. "But, as I recall, it's basically 'insert Tab A in Slot B', and after that your body kinda knows what to do."

"No, I mean, it's been a long time since I've done _this_." He rolled her over onto the bed and slid down to kneel on the floor between her parted legs. Turning his head, he kissed a trail up her inner thigh.

"Mmm. You know, you said the same thing about sparring, and you're pretty damn good at that."

"I'm pretty damn good at this too. Or, at least, I _used_ to be."

Veronica laughed, wriggling obediently out of her panties when his fingers tugged at the waistband. The dark nest of curls between her thighs came into view, and once again he had to breathe deliberately. He dragged the underwear down her legs and leaned back to allow her ankles to come together. The high heels tumbled off her feet, and he removed the panties completely.

"Slide back," he whispered.

She braced her heels on the bed to comply. He watched with anticipation as her strong buttocks flexed and the pink flesh of her womanhood peeked out at him. He followed her up onto the bed and settled himself comfortably on his belly.

"I'm going to be really disappointed if you're no good at this," she teased.

He nipped the inside of her thigh playfully. She gasped and arched her back. Chuckling, he kissed his way upward until he reached the edge of her curls. His lips toyed with the soft flesh only centimeters from her dripping center. Veronica bucked her hips impatiently, so he switched to the other side, tonguing the tender skin at the juncture of her thigh. He could hear her breathing heavily; he could see the tension in her legs and belly.

Suddenly he wanted more than anything to make her scream, to feel her shuddering at his touch. He could wait no longer. He abandoned restraint and slipped his tongue inside her folds to find her nub, which was slick and swollen. He licked it confidently. A frisson ran up his spine when she shrieked. He spread her folds and went to work, her ecstatic moans guiding him. Not coffee ice cream, but delicious nevertheless.

"Oh, god. Red, oh god, yes," she babbled.

He remembered every skill he had learned, and, although he had to adapt his techniques to Veronica's body, the exploration thrilled him. He experimented: moving faster, then slower; shifting ever so slightly to one side or the other; testing the top and bottom of her sensitive button. She flung one arm over her eyes and trembled. Her cries grew more and more urgent. At last he found the perfect spot, and Veronica wailed with pleasure as he made insistent love to it, every muscle in her body tensed.

He was certain that she had climaxed, but then he felt her thighs parting desperately, thrusting her pelvis toward him. Eagerly, he continued his work. Again she shrieked, and again her body seemed to beg for more. He grasped her buttocks and pulled her folds wide apart with his thumbs to increase his contact with the hooded nerve bundle. Her fingers scrabbled at his shoulder.

"Don't stop, Red, ohgodohfuck."

If his mouth were not otherwise occupied, he would have told her that he had no intention of stopping, not until she begged him to, and perhaps not even then. He assailed her nub, immeasurably aroused by her moans of pleasure. Her muscles trembled with exhaustion.

_YesVeronicayesbabyyesVeronicaVeronicaVeronica.._.

Her mouth flew wide with a gasp dragged from the bottom of her lungs. She arched her back, lifting her hips off the bed, her head tilting back at an impossible angle.

"Ohh!"

Then her fingers were twined in his hair, and she was pulling his head away, and she was hissing something he could not understand at first. Finally the words resolved themselves as 'fuckmefuckmefuckme'. Having no argument with this request, he crawled across her to tear a packet from the roll of condoms. Her hands fumbled at his waistband, opening his fly and pushing his pants down. He unwrapped the condom, shaking. She caressed him feverishly and unrolled the rubber along his length, then guided him into her tight, hot, dripping flesh. His eyelids fluttered as he plunged into her with delirious abandon.

"Yes, Red, yes, like that," she begged.

He planted his palms and let his hips have their way. Her fingers went to his nipples, rolling and pinching. He thrust into her again and again.

"Is this what you wanted?" he demanded, and was immediately shocked by his own outburst.

"Yes," Veronica breathed. "Yes. You. Like this."

Words spilled out of his mouth as if from another man's lips. "I should have known you'd be such an eager little slut."

"I'm sick of touching myself. I want the real thing. I want _you._"

"Is this what you think of when you're touching yourself?"

"Yesssss."

It was too much: her impassioned responses, her scent filling his nostrils, the sight of his sweat dripping onto her upturned breasts. Her nails scratched his chest and belly. Her dark eyes were dilated with ecstasy.

"You're gonna make me come," he groaned.

"Oh, please. Come for me."

His hips pistoned into her, pumping his climax up from deep within.

Her plump lips. Her gasps of pleasure. The taut muscles of her neck. She was ravishing him.

The orgasm rocketed up and possessed him. He pulsed into her, shuddering. His heart was beating so fast he thought it might explode. Veronica clasped him against her as he sagged. She stroked his back.

"Just for the record," she whispered, her breath tickling his ear. "_Not_ disappointed."

*****

A/N: This was my first time writing a sex scene from the man's point of view. Not having a penis, I trust that someone who does have one will correct me if there is weirdness in Kovacs' POV. And, yes, his lingual dexterity will be explained... :D


	24. Chapter 24

Nikki watched lazily as Kovacs rose to go into the bathroom, admiring his broad shoulders and firm bottom; the skin of his back was rough with scrapes and scars. She heard him dispose of the condom and run the faucet. Noticing that he had flipped the phone upside-down in its cradle, she smiled. She stretched and slipped her hands under the pillows behind her head. Her lower half was pleasantly numb.

Kovacs emerged from the bathroom and rounded the bed to collect his clothes. When he pulled on his underwear and pants, Nikki jerked up into a sitting position.

"What are you doing, Red?" she asked cautiously.

He avoided her eyes, focusing on his belt buckle. "Heading to the station."

Nikki's mouth dropped open. "Red, the last train to New York is _gone_."

"I'll wait for the morning one."

"Wow," she snapped as he slipped his undershirt on. "Wow. You would rather wait in a _train station_ all night than stay here with me? Honestly?"

"Veronica-"

"Don't 'Veronica' me! If you don't want me to be a whore, then don't fucking treat me like one. Why don't you just leave your goddamn money on the dresser!"

Kovacs recoiled. He sagged onto the bed, facing away from her. His hands, white-knuckled, clenched his knees. Nikki slumped back against the headboard and scratched her ankle.

"If you wanted to fuck and run, you shouldn't have done such a good job at the fucking part," she grumbled.

He turned his head slightly, but still she could not see his eyes.

"It doesn't make me inclined to let you run." She sighed and stretched out her legs. "How'd you get so good at that anyway? The fucking, I mean. Although you ain't bad at the running part, either, I gotta say."

To her mild surprise, Kovacs scooted back onto the bed and lay down. She welcomed his head onto her lap and stroked his vivid red hair. His light brown eyes stared at her belly fixedly.

"When I was young," he said quietly, "I knew a woman who taught me many things."

Nikki hesitated for a moment, then spoke: "Did you love her?"

"Very much."

She felt an irrational bolt of jealousy pierce her heart. She swallowed the green monster down: Kovacs had lived a hard life, and he deserved a little joy. Did she think he had never touched a woman before her?

Actually...

"What happened to her?" Nikki asked.

"Doesn't matter," he murmured. He stroked her sternum with his fingertip, tracing one of her bruises. His hands were rough, but his touch was gentle.

"And...I don't suppose you stop loving people. When they're gone."

"No," he agreed. "You don't."

Nikki found herself fighting back tears, so she leaned her head back against the wall. The top of the headboard dug into her scalp. Kovacs leaned forward to kiss her stomach. Then he rolled up and looked Nikki in the eye.

"I'm sorry I said you looked like a prostitute."

She smiled ruefully, blinking moisture away. "Well, I _do _wear short skirts and suck dick in hotel rooms."

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he said honestly, ignoring her attempt at a joke.

"I didn't mean to let you hurt me."

He cupped her face and kissed her lips softly. "I'm going to get some ice for your hands. I'll be back in just a moment."

"Promise?" she asked wide-eyed, sounding needier than she would have liked.

"Yeah. I promise. I'll stay here tonight...if you don't mind."

Nikki giggled. "No, I don't _mind_! But do _you_ mind that I expect you to remove your clothes and get in this bed immediately upon re-entering the room?"

"No," he replied, blushing. "I don't mind."

"Good. Because I consider it a civic duty to the man who defends our fair city to get him off as frequently and as well as possible."

He had risen from the bed, but now he paused and looked back at her. "So it's Rorschach you want?"

"It's _you_ I want," she replied. "Although the trench coat is kinda hot. And the gloves. And-"

"Okay, okay!" Kovacs exclaimed, throwing up his hands. He narrowed his eyes at her in mock anger. "Just wait until I get back."

Nikki licked her lips expectantly. Chuckling, he shoved his bare feet into shoes, then grabbed the ice bucket with its plastic liner and the room key. The door latch clicked shut behind him. She stumbled out of bed, her legs sore and exhausted, to use the toilet. She did not turn on the light in the bathroom; she did not want to see her own face in the mirror. When she had washed her hands, her bare feet stepped back onto the carpeted floor. In the late-night silence of the hotel room, Nikki felt panic rising within her. She glanced at Kovacs' jacket draped around the chair; his tie was folded into one pocket. He had slipped that very coat over her shoulders after the bar fight with Lester. Rising, she lifted the garment and put it on. The lining felt cool against her bare flesh. _Oh shit oh fuck oh Jesus oh god oh shit_, she thought to herself as the tears rose, threatening to choke her again. She snuggled the coat around her.

Nikki whirled when she head the key in the lock. Kovacs stared at her for a moment, then entered the room without comment and shut the door. She bit her lip. He set the ice bucket on the dresser and approached her.

"Cold?" he asked softly, rubbing his hands along her jacketed upper arms.

She screwed her face up and shook her head.

"That coat looks a lot better on you than it does on me. But..." His eyes flicked over her. "...take it off. I want to see you."

"You too," she bargained.

He nodded. Nikki stripped off the jacket and hung it back on the chair, watching Kovacs' fair, muscular flesh emerge from beneath his clothes. Grabbing the ice bucket, he went into the bathroom and added some water from the faucet. Then he took her hand and drew her onto the bed. She sat obediently between his legs, back against his warm chest. The ice bucket went between her knees. Hissing at the cold, she worked her hands into the freezing water.

"Good girl," he murmured into her ear. He stroked her thighs soothingly.

Nikki grimaced at the extreme chill. She bit her lip shyly. "Was it, you know, okay for you? The sex, I mean."

His breath tickled her neck as he chuckled. "Well, I've never..._talked_...before. During. That was new."

"Really? That was...yeah, that was...wow."

"You liked that?" Kovacs breathed. His hands slipped under her arms to cup her breasts. He toyed idly with her nipples.

Nikki exhaled, melting into the circle of his arms. She felt the beginnings of an erection against her lower back. "I liked all of it," she assured him. "Mm, that's nice."

"How do your hands feel?"

"What hands?" she purred.

He kissed the back of her neck. Nikki gasped as his lips grazed the tender flesh. The sensation of his thumbs on her nipples was making her feel faint. She tilted her head back and rested it on his shoulder.

"You fought well tonight. It burned me not to be cornering you, but you fought well."

"You fight _every_ night," she whispered, "and not for money. Why?"

He sighed.

Nikki withdrew her hands from the ice bucket and shook the water off her hands. Freezing droplets struck Kovacs's legs, and his muscles clenched in response. She set the bucket on the floor by the bed. She raised herself onto her knees to tear a packet off the roll of condoms. He hissed as her frozen fingers closed around his erection, but she felt him harden even more. She slipped the condom onto him slowly and carefully, making sure that her cool touch came in contact with him as much as possible. She closed her hand around his scrotum as the _coup de grace_. He shifted his hips uncomfortably.

"Such a baby!" Nikki teased, turning her head to grin at him. At last she positioned herself and sat down, enclosing him. They both made tiny noises of pleasure as he slid into her. She was still for a long moment, just enjoying the way he stretched her sensitive muscles. Kovacs rested his forehead against her spine. His hands went to her hips, and she began to rock minutely against him.

"Why do you fight?" she asked lazily.

"Because someone must. Because _I_ must."

His breath was hot against her back. She balanced herself on the bed and rolled her pelvis. Kovacs thrust up against her, but she kept her movements short and controlled.

"How do you know you're doing the right thing?" she ventured finally.

"I know."

"But how can you respect life by taking it?"

"The lives I take corrupt. I cut out that corruption, like a surgeon cutting out a cancer."

"That's some rationalization. So how come _you_ get to be judge, jury, and executioner?"

"Hurm. I'm used to being the one who asks the questions," he growled, amusement plain in his voice. He pushed her forward onto all fours, withdrawing himself, and crawled up onto his knees. In a flash he was inside her again, and Nikki gasped at the angle of penetration. His voice was harsh in her ear. "How did you know it was me?"

She tilted her backside up, moaning helplessly as his length slid in and out of her.

"How did you know?" he repeated.

"You..." she panted, "...you called me...'_Ms_. Washington'. Oh god! And then...tonight...you corrected me. About the...unh...Marcus Aurelius. I could see it...in your eyes."

"You don't stand up very well under torture, Veronica."

Nikki emitted a noise that was partly a laugh and partly a groan. "Are you going to...mm...stop, now that I've...ohhhhh...told you everything?"

"I'm sure I can think of...ehhnk...a few more questions."

Her arms were shaking. She collapsed onto her forearms. Kovacs straightened up and grasped her thighs to hold her while he rammed into her. Nikki wailed her pleasure into the mattress.

"This is what you wanted that first day we met?" he grunted. "This?"

His rough fingertips dug into the flesh at the top of her thighs. Her eyes were starting to roll, and it was becoming difficult to think. She struggled to formulate an answer. "Yeah. And, if I'd known you were so goddamn good at it, I would have jumped you then and there."

"The day you came to the gym in a skirt and heels...it just about killed me. I almost followed you into that bathroom."

Nikki laughed wildly, recalling her fantasy of him ravishing her against the bathroom sink. Suddenly the angle of her hips slipped, and everything fled her mind except the overwhelming desire for Kovacs to continue moving in exactly that way.

"Yes, Red, there, yes!"

He pounded into her. She forgot to breathe. He moaned. She crumbled into quivering atoms of ecstasy, muffling her shrieking mouth against the bed. Kovacs kept crashing into her passage, and she was achingly sensitive, and it was too much and so wonderful all at the same time, and then his whole body clenched as he groaned her name between gritted teeth. Nikki's exhausted legs collapsed, and she fell, gasping, onto her belly.

"Jesus, Mary, and Joseph," he swore, leaning over her. A drop of sweat tumbled from his forehead to her back. "I'm glad you didn't jump me that first day. We'd never have gotten anything done."

"You mean training?" Nikki giggled, her voice muffled by the mattress.

"I mean _anything_," Kovacs clarified. He clambered off of the bed and stumbled to the bathroom, clutching at the condom. "And don't think you're getting any sleep tonight, either, Veronica. I still have plans for you."

"Oh god, I hope so," she replied fervently.


	25. Chapter 25

She stared into the lightly fogged mirror, listening to the rush of the shower behind her. The tears welling in her eyes had made her makeup smear. She took a washcloth from the rack and ran water on it to clean her face.

"Veronica?"

Kovacs was peeking around the edge of the shower curtain, dark red curls plastered down on his forehead. He pushed his hair back and stared at her curiously.

"Yeah, Red?" she answered, desperate to control the quaver in her voice. She smiled at him in the mirror.

He watched her silently for a long moment. The showerhead sprayed its jet against the tiled wall. His flesh was stained red from the boiling-hot water. At last he stuck out his dripping arm to draw her into the showertub with him. Nikki shook her head, grinning.

"No way! You look like a boiled lobster in there!"

Kovacs snorted and disappeared behind the curtain again. Nikki turned back to the sink to scrub her face. When all trace of makeup was gone, she examined the damage to her body, tilting this way and that in the light.

"Sometimes," she sang softly as she counted bruises, "I feel like a motherless child, a long, long way from home."

"Sing it again," he called above the sheeting noise of the water.

Nikki did, louder this time. The acoustics in the hotel bathroom were not bad. He was silent for a long time after she finished. Then he spoke again: "Now talk to me, Veronica."

"What? Want me to talk dirty while you're getting clean?" she teased, probing her shoulder gingerly. She had lied to Angel about icing it down, but she was not entirely sure that she had not strained it somehow. Or, god forbid, _torn_ something. Rotator cuff injuries were a bad business.

"No. Tell me what's wrong."

Nikki widened her eyes innocently, although he was still behind the shower curtain and could not see her. "I'm just hoping I didn't screw up my shoulder."

There was a pause.

"Are you thinking about Pantoliano's offer?"

She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. "No. I can't think about that right now. It's been a long night. There's just...too much..." She waved a hand in the air as if it could complete her thought for her.

"Crying because you're tired, then?"

_Crap. Didn't think he saw._ "It's like how I barf when I'm pregnant," she joked.

Kovacs shut off the water, pulled the curtain open, and, dripping, stepped out onto the mat. He grabbed Nikki, pulling her to him. She clucked her tongue but laced herself eagerly around his wet frame. She wriggled against him lasciviously.

"Stop," he whispered. "Stop."

His arms locked around her like iron, and she subsided, burying her face under his jaw. Drops of water fell from his tangled hair onto her back. She squeezed against him desperately.

"Tell me. Is it Pantoliano?"

"No, it's not Pantoliano," Nikki answered miserably. She made a face against his neck and laughed bitterly. "Why you bein' such a _girl, _huh? We gotta _talk _about everything?"

Kovacs released her in surprise. She backed toward the bedroom door, flashing a seductive smile at him. "Come on, Red. I thought you had plans for me."

He gave her that hard blank stare which she had come to associate with Rorschach, mask or no mask. "You want to fuck." His monotone, emotionless voice made it more a statement than a question.

Nikki's mouth dropped open at his crass vocabulary. She forced herself to laugh. "What else would I want?" she challenged, bumping up against the edge of the bed.

He pursed his lips, stalking her. She exposed her teeth in a feral grin and crawled onto the sheets. She did not take her eyes off of him. "Damn, you look good wet," she cooed as he approached. She glanced down at his member; it dangled, still soft, in the dark red thatch of his pubic hair. Her stung pride suddenly abandoned her.

"Tell me what you want, Veronica."

"I want _you_, handsome," she said, trying to paste a smile on her face. She knelt forward and reached for him. He stared down at her implacably as she stroked him into something that might pass as an erection. "I want you," she repeated, with less confidence, and fumbled for a condom packet. She avoided his merciless brown eyes while she drew the rubber down over his length. "I want you."

"This body, you mean. You want this body."

Startled, Nikki looked up and was pinned by his gaze. "Of course I want your body, Red. You're gorgeous."

He stared at a spot on the wall for a moment, then nodded. Lightning-fast, he grabbed her in a supplex and flipped her face-down on the bed, his wet muscles pinning her. Nikki struggled, but somehow her wriggling just managed to part her legs and trap her arms.

"Red-" she gasped.

"I'm giving you what you want, Veronica," he grunted harshly. "Isn't this what you want?" His hand crawled inexorably between her thighs. The damp heat of his body was dangerous and wonderful.

"I want you," she whispered.

"You what_?"_ Kovacs demanded.

"I want you!"

In response, he angled himself into her passage, crushing and filling her. He rocked his hips against her in short strokes that rubbed every sensitive inch of her buttocks and center. Then his fingers found her swollen nub, and she moaned helplessly. She could not seem to catch her breath. His shaft massaged the tight muscles of her entrance, first one way, then the other. His breath was ragged in her ear. She fought to spread her thighs and allow him in deeper. His weight pinned her.

"I need you, Red," she groaned.

"You've got me."

"No," she wailed, crazy with pleasure and despair. "I _need_ you!"

"You've got me," he insisted. "You've got me, Veronica. You've got me."

He murmured the words again and again, whole syllables disappearing into jagged gasps. She writhed shamelessly against him, and the ecstasy gripped her with such force that she faded into blackness for a drawn-out, liquid moment. When she came to herself again, his slick hips were grinding against her frantically. She murmured senseless encouragement and squeezed her exhausted muscles around his length. Then she heard a sobbing noise, and he froze. She sighed. At last he levered himself off of her. The sudden cold absence of his body panicked her momentarily; she felt as exposed and vulnerable as a newborn. The words tumbled out of her in a rush:

"I was crying because I'm totally crazy about you, and I want to keep this with you this this this intimacy, but I didn't want to be a total _woman_ about it, I wanted to play it cool, like it's just sex, but it's killing me, 'cause I don't just want you, I _do need you_, and I don't just mean your body, I mean _you_: Walter, Rorschach, Red, whoever the hell you are, you're what I need. And you're gonna leave in the morning, and that's fine, you need to do what you need to do, but-"

"Veronica."

"Yeah?" she breathed.

Kovacs scooted over to rest on his forearms next to her. He tucked his face into the crook of her shoulder. "Ms. Washington," he murmured, his breath tickling her neck.

She could not restrain a giggle. "What?"

"Nikki."

Her stomach did a two-and-a-half twist in the pike position.

"Sure, I'm leaving tomorrow. But with you. Okay?" He sighed, exasperated. "Hell, if you can take a punch, you can take this."

"If I can take a _dick_, I can take this, you mean." She began to laugh. It was the kind of panicky laughter that bubbled up from her diaphragm and threatened to evolve into tears. She tilted her head back, breathing deeply, and teasingly bumped his hip with her own. "I'm done with crying," she declared. "I'm done, got it?"

"Wild horses, Veronica."

"Huh?"

"Wild horses couldn't drag me away."

Nikki flipped over onto her back and caressed his freckled face. He grinned at her crookedly.

"Yeah?" she asked.

"Yeah."

"Graceless lady," she sang softly, "you know who I am. You know I can't let you slide through my hands. Wild horses couldn't..." She trailed off as he covered her mouth with a kiss.

***

Nikki sat up in bed, unsure how long the knocking had been going on. Kovacs lay still on the pillow, but his eyes were wide open, watching her.

"It's us, baby!"

Christ.

"It's my parents," she muttered to Kovacs. She staggered to her feet, every inch of her body either sore or oversensitive. Or both. Snagging a towel from the bathroom, she wrapped it around herself on the way to the door, which she cracked.

"Hey, honey. How are you feeling? Want to get some breakfast with us?"

Nikki poked her head out and gazed at her chirping mother blearily. "Uhm, it was kind of a late night, so I might pass, okay?"

The two older Washingtons exchanged a glance. Nikki was uncertain what information they were communicating to each other. She scratched her calf with her toe. Then her father grinned in a way that she knew meant trouble.

"Walter is welcome to come too." Marcus raised his voice toward the cracked door. "Walter! Want breakfast?"

"Sounds great, Marcus," a voice yelled back.

Nikki knocked her head back against the doorframe.

"See you downstairs in about fifteen?" Sandra suggested.

"Make it twenty," her daughter grumbled.

****

A/N: There are lyrics from two songs contained in this chapter. "Sometime I Feel" is an old spiritual. "Wild Horses" was written and originally recorded by the Rolling Stones (although Bush does a pretty good cover).


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